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c-rose2081 · 3 years

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A Letter from Grace

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My life, as most people’s do, began at an ungodly hour on October 31st, 1918. Father admitted once that it was the longest witching hour of his life, and that he hadn’t slept at all the days prior due to worry over the birth. I was born three months earlier then expected, and mother liked to say that I was the smallest, most fragile little baby she’d ever laid eyes on. Just the size of a decent eggplant from the market; perfectly suited to sit in the palm of your hand.

Tension was high that night, as Influenza had already taken many infants in the local Hospital. So I was born in the dark privacy of my Grandfathers New York Estate, passed down for three generations already. Father was excited to have a fourth Generation to which he could pass his legacy, or so I was told. Swaddled expertly by a matron of almost sixty years who Mother claimed to trust with her life, for a single moment everything was perfect; just my parents and their little baby girl who they named Grace.

But my weakness would not be chased away so easily.

Though I don’t remember much of the early years, I recall father once telling me that I had broken two fingers, and cracked my head open before I could even walk. Doctors who came to the house claimed my bones simply weren’t strong enough yet; that I needed more calcium which my mothers milk couldn’t seem to provide. But by the time I was on my own two feet, tottering about the manor as most young children do, bruises, breaks, and scratches had the staff and my poor parents on edge. It was around this time as well my own heart decided to betray me. It wasn’t normal for such a young child to be fatigued as quickly as I was, nor was it normal for her breathing to sound like the hard start of an automobile.

Up until the age of six, when I begin to remember some (if only a little) of my childhood, no one - no local physician nor expert - could figure out what was wrong with me. Everything, yet nothing, was the matter. Mother - who was a journalist for National Geographic - traveled and was away for long periods during this time. And though I can recall day dreaming of the many fantastic and wondrous locales she must’ve seen, it left my worrying father to…well, worry about me. It seemed falling down the stairs face first at my local day school and not only cracking my head open again, but also breaking two ribs and promptly becoming unconscious, was enough to send him reeling over the edge of hysteria for my well-being.

During my long and tedious recovery from that single incident, I caught a devilish sickness. No one knows where it had come from; another student in my school perhaps, or from a simple passing stranger. But Father claimed he had paid a fortune in phone calls to Africa in order to speak with mother who was (at the time) photographing Elephants. She came straight home of course, only to find her little girl pale and as close to death as one could be.

It’s all a bit hazy, as my brain was still young; feverish and half-delusional. But I can remember the lingering smell of tobacco on fathers hands and ground into his silk lapels as he cradled me, rubbing my back as I coughed and struggled to catch a breath. And I can still hear mother’s voice as she sat by the bedside, telling me of the many animals she had seen while in Africa. I dreamed of lions and elephants in those hours, blearily staring at nothing as lamplight flickered across damp windowpanes from an evening rainfall. I recovered slowly but surely, but that first flu had taken something out of me. Something I wasn’t ever able to get back, even as I grew older.

I was just about to turn seven, finally healthy again, when I was no longer permitted to leave the grounds. Mother and Father had a very long, loud conversation about it in the library, to which I listened in through the mahogany door. There was to be no more school; just private tutors who I would soon come to spite. No more Summer games in the park, or long nights under strings of electric lights at the carnival. No possibility of family trips, or late night escapades to the Ice Cream parlor for frozen cherries and whipped cream. There was to be no world for me beyond the fence of the Estate.

To keep me safe, Father claimed.

It was only a day after that the wheelchair made its first appearance in my life. Father insisted it would help with my heart; protect it from beating to fast from running, or walking about to quickly. Mother disagreed with the notion, I could see it on her face as I was settled into the wicker seat for the first time, but she said nothing. I hated it instantly. I wanted to run and play, and roll about in the grass like the kids at my school could. I used to envy their ability to get high, high up into the branches above the schoolyard, perched at the top with the world at their feet. I never dared try for myself, lest Father decide to cut all the trees down if he ever saw me in one.

It wasn’t bad at first; Mother stayed with me those beginning months, occupying my mind with stories of her travels and long games of chess. She began me in piano lessons, and helped with my cursive. But it wasn’t long before she once again had to leave; India this time, to photograph wild tigers. The day she left it felt like some huge part of me went with her. Father tried his best of course, and I remember riding on his shoulders or in his arms with fondness. But he was a busy man, often called away to the city for one thing or another.

The staff of course did their best, but babysitting a squirmy young girl certainly wasn’t in their daily agenda. My nursemaid - the same woman who birthed me (nasty old crone) - was a harsh matron who allowed for little beyond what was deemed safe and allowable by my Father. It was always lessons in the morning; the usual subjects of maths, geography, history, natural sciences and the like. This clockwork schedule was followed by etiquette and tea time, piano lessons, art, literature and penmanship.

I did get some exercise, but I was always well watched by Matron and at least two other members of staff. Some days it was a casual swim, no longer then half an hour, and on Saturday it was a light waltzing lesson (privately taught of course). And - on the rare occasion I could bully the other staff into it - a game of croquet or darts on the lawn. But there was little time for fun, despite my Fathers pleasure at my supposed ‘safety’, and I each day I felt some small part of me die.

I was 13 when the next incident occurred. Some local boys who I’d never seen before wandered close to our garden fence. Matron had left me to my afternoon reading as to fetch coffee (which I had come to prefer over tea). Mother - according to her letters - was someplace in China, hunting down Rhinoceros. Father had left earlier that morning to meet with investors at his office in the city. It was a rare moment I was truly alone. The boy, who’s name I can’t recall now, smiled at me. It was a cute, boyish grin and I can still remember how startled I was by it. After all I hadn’t seen anyone in what felt like years (at least six, to be exact). He urged me close to the fence.

At that point I was desperate to be out of my wheelchair, so I walked to him. He nodded to the lovely apple tree which I had been sitting under, and asked if I could climb it to fetch him one of the fruit. Of course I said no, as climbing was strictly prohibited, but he was quite a smooth talker for a boy so young. He called me pretty, and dove, and all the sweet things one calls a girl to make her waver in her convictions. And so - stupidly, might I say - I climbed the tree against my better judgement.

Three shiny red apples were tossed easily over the fence, one for each boy. They gave me a wave goodbye and ran off to do whatever they pleased. And then there was me, a fragile, tiny girl stuck up in a tree with no way down. Of course I didn’t mind at first, I was actually elated I had made the climb at all. I finally was able to see what my schoolmates had all those years ago. I could view the entire estate and beyond; I could stare at the horizon; seemingly endless in its reach. But as much as I yearned to stay above and away from my tiny world forever, Matron would soon return.

Getting out of the tree was much more complicated then climbing into it.

I remember the horrible feeling of miscalculation; falling and hitting the soft earth with a terrible grunt. Something inside me cracked, and my lungs exploded with fire as I wheezed out a cry of pain. I don’t remember now who had seen me first; one of the yard staff perhaps, but Matron was furious. Once again I was bedridden, pretending to sleep as Father puffed on his favorite ivory pipe just outside my bedroom door. He mentioned to Matron the idea of adding straps to the wheelchair, as to keep me from falling. I remember whimpering under the blankets at the thought of being tied to the thing, and sobbing myself to sleep that night.

The years came and went, and I felt more and more heavy with each passing hour. I didn’t leave the wheelchair again until I was 16, and simply couldn’t stand the bloody thing anymore. I would sit in chairs, or on window sills. I’d spend time in the woven hammock in the garden, or lounge across the evening sofas. Any place I could sit, I would, simply to avoid being stuck in the contraption I loathed. I got sick more often during these middle years; on again off again fevers and dizzy spells that left me dazed and began the chain of worrying my father and caretakers all over again.

There were endless nights alone where I’d stare at my naked form in the mirror in golden lamplight, using a finger to count the ribs poking from under my paper-like skin. It’s true my body was changing into that of a woman, but it hardly mattered when the lightest of touches could leave a mark on me the size of a continent.

Mother was traveling again, to and from as she always seemed to do. Letters and phone calls were exchanged often, and I often studied the places she traveled when she was away in my geography lessons. But it often felt like it was just Father and I against the world. He was dear of course, moving his work to the home office as illness became more common. He’d bring me gifts from the city; strings of diamonds and beautiful mink furs. A brand new motorcar, just for my use (not like I could ever go anywhere). But there really wasn’t much that could bring a smile to my face.

Burning the wheelchair and the Matron in a fire the size of Connecticut might have done it. But I didn’t have the heart to ask.

Father even hosted a large ball for my Birthday that year, with dancing and music and people. But even that couldn’t seem to bring my heart from its dark and lonely place. Only when Father allowed the wheelchair to be folded up and hidden away in the closet after almost ten years did I finally feel whole again. I was more careful after that; I did little to aggravate my condition. The fevers and fainting spells were still present, but the bruises and breaks healed. I took a fondness for the writings of Edgar Allen Poe, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice. I read the articles in National Geographic which Mother had sent in her letters over the years, and sketched the animals which she herself had photographed. For a while, everything finally seemed ok.

Until Mother returned home from her second trip to Africa deeply ill.

For the first time in my life, I finally felt what father must have for me every time I lay bedridden. I was only allowed to see her from the doorway, out of fear of me catching the disease as well. I wasn’t allowed to speak with anyone who entered or left the room, and Father had to bathe and keep his distance whenever he came to see me. I was 18 when she finally died in the night. This year. Though it feels like just yesterday.

Yellow Fever they said, from a mosquito bite in Africa.

Nothing - not the breaks, bruises, fevers or constant illness - prepared me to see my own mother dead. I wasn’t even allowed to see her; to say goodbye. I could only watch, held back by three of the staff, as she was carried out under a sheet. The Doctor had to sedate me for my own health after I managed to break loose and nearly fell down the stairs after her corpse. I woke up numb, and couldn’t convince myself to move for days after that. I knew I should’ve been grieving with father, but I couldn’t manage it. There was so much pain. The wheelchair came out of the closet again, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

The funeral was attended, and the casket buried. Father and I didn’t speak much in those long weeks after; in fact I wondered if I even could. It felt like I hadn’t spoken in years. There was just a horrible, overwhelming chill in me, and I grew weaker with grief. After a few months, Father became worried for me, as did the house staff. They opened the windows, and trimmed the gardens. The rooms were dusted, and filled with light. I was taken outside the fence for the first time since I was a girl, in the automobile which I hadn’t ever used. But there was still only emptiness.

After four months, Father left the house to attend a meeting in the city. He returned with a man whom I didn’t recognize; a fancy man who bowed and kissed my hand and smiled from under his white mustache. He said his specialty was in dealing with those lost in grieving, and that perhaps it would be best if we (my father and I) left New York and all it’s memories behind. Naturally I was appalled at the idea, but couldn’t seem to match my face to my feelings.

Before I knew it the house was emptied out, packed into boxes and taken away by trucks and wagons. Anything not moved was sold at auction, and the house was passed on to the highest bidder.

“New Orleans, my little Bluebird,” Father told me as we settled in for the long journey by car across the country, leaving New York behind, “truly a city of culture. I’ve bought us a beautiful new home just outside town; you’ll love how big it is.”

And big it was. The old Hatchaway Estate was an ivory mansion in a traditional New England style. Surrounded by the most beautiful trees and well kept fields, it was a far cry from the fenced in world back home. The staff, pre-hired, were a gloomy looking bunch dressed in green and black stripes. But father liked their quiet (somewhat somber) fortitude, and so I said nothing as they helped us settle in. There was something…unusual about the new house. I could feel it the minute I walked through the door. A heaviness; like someone was watching me. It was just enough unease for me to forget my quiet grief for a moment.

I learned quickly that the house itself was seemingly unnerved. The first week I had seen at least two items move on their own, and heard giddy singing from the back garden only to find no one there. The staff was practically ghostly, saying very little to us, let alone one another. And I spent a lot of time exploring the grounds on my own. It was a few weeks after moving in, about a month before my 19th Birthday, that father hired two new drivers; a Mr. Harrod Fairchild, and Mr. Rudolph Martin to tend to the cars.

And this, my friends, is where I find myself now. Writing this overview of where I’ve been so far, and now disclosing with utmost discretion my newfound interest in the man father has hired in my name. Mr. Martin is…how to describe him is a puzzle. Handsome? Certainly. Charming? Quite so. I find myself endeared to his presence despite myself, and I grow weary of this…this little tickle of something other then emptiness that has suddenly flared up inside me. Have I once again caught ill? How to explain to father (or anyone really) this fever in me whenever he’s nearby. I’ve barely spoken to him, but have watched him tend to the car and grounds from the windows. I know he’s gentle, but still quite strong. I can sometimes hear him singing down there, leaning against the porch as he plays the banjo for the staff keeping the porch.

Every time I do get close, or think about approaching him myself, I feel that fever begin to rise and I wonder if something is truly very wrong with me. It feels like I’m dying, and I can hardly stand it. I’m bewitched. Perhaps it’s this terrible heat? What’s wrong with me?

I wish mother were here, she’d know what to do.

Eternally yours, dear reader

Grace

#original character #oc #fanfiction #character literature #character development #haunted mansion #haunted mansion oc #disney

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itsmoonphobic · 3 years

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Dream SMP characters and my interpretation of them:

-Techno: The smell of Dirt and soil,blood,wine and old books. Silk pillowcases,golden jewelry,mosaics,stained fingertips, grand staircases,scented candles,storyteller,lazy smiles, secretive,slow dancing,sad resting face,elegant language,cold weather,confident,doubts himself,philosophy, messy braids,glowdust flakes, poetry,graceful movements,neat and cursive handwriting, greek mythology, oriental music,pale skin,libraries,sarcasm, long-lasting friendships,quotes,frosted windows,layering clothes, know-it-all,rude but endearing,pile of papers,cherry blossoms,muted colors,overthinks everything,devotion,logical thinking,insomniac,scattered mind,castle walls,laid back,tired eyes,long debates,show over tell,lingering touches,rulebreaker, dirty palms,old movies freezing feet,old habits,late nights studying,early riser,skips meals,eye bags,tea with milk,velvet jackets,dimly lit by streetlights,ancient wood floors,flowy curtains,art museums, gravely morning voice,echos in the middle of nowhere,sleepy whispers,nostalgia everywhere,red lipstick stains,loves animal more than people,calm and quiet, healing stones,parked car conversations,sharp jaw,obsessed with memes,violins,doves, doves,floats instead of walks,unbroken promises,twisting and winding hair around fingers,nail biting, repeating phrases,mist secret scars,rumors,always wearing earphones,metaphorical, emotions fragile as a flower, speaks with his eyes,fluttery eyelashes,dog lover,forehead kisses,calligraphy,pretty knives,cares too much,lopsided grins,messy desks,talks for hours no,rolling his eyes all the time,powerful strides,wants to conquer the world,slender hands,good grades, dusty book covers,wax stamped envelopes,vintage mirrors

-Phil: The smell of cold air,pine trees and sandalwood.Dead birds and mothballs,stops on the sidewalk to make sure nobody is left behind,morning person,herbal teas,crows,eats breakfast outside,constellations,family portraits on walls, chirping and whistling,crime documentaries,cool father figure, graveyards,weeping angels,meteor shower,many friends but only a single close one,contagious laugh,fragile teacups,fog, early mornings,fuzzy blankets,springs of thyme,bare feet, empty streets,rosemary stems,flickering lanterns,burnt wood bowls,feather collector,antique silverware,a sky full of stars, skylights,torn pages,overstuffed bookshelves,makes you feel comfortable whenever you talk to him,organized,full of ideas, believes in magic,gives the best advice,lost in his own way, warm hugs,scrapbooks and bullet journals,old cars,soft features,daydreaming,bright eyes,getting lost in the woods,moonlight,self knitted sweaters, stargazing on tailgates,the universe,hand in hand with wandering hearts, garage sales,questioning life but feeling at peace,attic bedrooms and haylofts,pursuing science and desiring art, photo albums,hopeless romantic,dark chocolate,open windows and quirky morning rituals,actually knows what brunch is, succulents,a kind-hearted loner,free-spirit,plaid button-ups, always ready to let you rant,abandons projects quickly, complicated past,bold moves,goes with the flow,aims for things that seem unachievable,lives in extremes,knowing smiles,constantly busy with something new,soft touches,love at first sight,naps alot,subsequent tea stains,sparkly eyes, abandoned barns,handwritten notes,feather quills,fascination with the sky,whispering secrets to the wind,great with kids, takes a backpack everywhere,hugs trees,big winter coats,road trips,knows tons of medical info,bites his nails,comforting presence,lost souls,city lights from a high rise

-Wilbur: The smell of fire,smoke,caramel and coffee. Stands up for people who can't for themselves,emotional wreck,loves his family too much but still yells at them,soft turtlenecks,sits in different spots every time he eats dinner,chipped nailpolish, songwriter,probably depressed,wakes up in the middle of the night to write down random thoughts,heartbroken teenager songs,dark psychology and deep meanings,globes and maps, wants to travel and make lots of memories,curls of steam, earbuds in,spattered ink,good singer,keeps to himself,old music and dusty vinyl,the type of person that you could stare at for hours,loud laugh,ride or die,dreams about his future, believes in fresh starts and new beginnings, messy and tangled hair,summer nights,soft features,deep thinker and dimples, having crushes,musicals and theater, half finished diaries and laptop stickers,mixtapes,quirky love notes, secretly kinda insane,always ready for coffee,thrift shops, beachy waves, bonfires,probably drives too fast,cutoff jeans, cream and sugar,nude colors,always creating new problems for himself, fights for equality,long debates and tired eyes, tapping a rhythm and humming quietly,spends all his time on social media,beanie galore,trench coats,foggy glasses,cozy sweaters, dancing around his room to the Beatles,looking out the window when the sun is setting,birkenstocks,guitar strumming on a warm summer evening,bells and chimes,subtle sadness, the feeling of diving into a deep pool,perfect proportions,too many playlists,holding hands,pretty boy,sew on patches and bomber jackets,candid photos,warm sun on bare skin,dancing silhouettes on the sunsets,beach walks at midnight,messy but cozy room,different mood every minute,singing his favorite song at the top of his lungs,sharp grins,haunted houses, paranormal stuff,late night snack runs with friends,explores creeks and lakes,double checks everything he does,walking through hot sand,backyard campfires,acoustic songs,photo booths,train platforms at night,s'mores,sun bleached arbors

-Tommy: The smell of plastic,fresh cut grass and musk. Does the bare minimum at School,unless genuinely interested in a topic,doodles on the side of his paper,movie marathons,empty coca cola bottles everywhere,rope swings,glossy nailpolish,lots of energy,life of the party, kidcore ,can always make you laugh,loves photography,eyestrain and bright colors,bruised knees and untied shoelaces,paperballs in class,brand new red converse,denim jackets,pins and clips,chalk drawings in the middle of the road,every text contains emojis, garden sprinklers,graffiti,wreck this journal,vibrant dyed hair, scribbles and highlighter pens,carnivals,involed in many things, watermelon flavored anything,loves to climb trees,screaming on playgrounds,oversized t-shirts,stained glass windows, anklets,skateboards and hula hoops,milkshakes on the front porch,social butterfly,always in a hurry,pinkie promises,tangled headphones,melted crayons and gummy bears,bean bags and hummingbirds,spinning around till he gets dizzy,chaotic and crazy yet so fun to be around,rushing into things too quickly, roller coasters and derbies,doesn't get knocked back by criticism,cans of fizzy drinks and neon lights,skips school,tye dye shirts and nitendo games,impulse and class clown,sticks stickers on stranger's things,pickpockets his close friends,has to carry a walkie-talkie around with him at all times,sleepovers and sneaking out through windows,pockets full of change and random buttons,stands out in crowds and makes friends easily, pretends to be fearless but is scared of the littlest things,trips and rips his jeans daily,uno cards,social butterfly,music discs, fights with his family but would actually kill for them,broken handwriting,flannels and jerseys around his waist

-Tubbo: The smell of honey,fresh bread and citrus. Lowkey soft, hugging a teddy bear,pressed flowers,eats alot of bread,big hoodies,fairy lights and blanket forts,prank calls while holding in your laughter,beeswax candles,sidewalk dandelions,gentle cuddles on the couch,pastel yellow and cute doodles,flower crowns and diasy chains,plays the ukulele,fascinated by bees and supports local coffee shops,outdoorsy sunshine addict, sparklers and iced lemonade,festivals with fireworks and fireflies in mason jars,homework done as soon as its assigned, watercolor paintings,giggling uncontrollably,long hugs and lazy cartoon afternoons,park dates and forehead kisses,cutting pants into shorts,messy wild hair and pear lollipops,has tiny random braids decorated with golden yarn,hearing the crinkle of leaves underfoot,suprise piggy back rides,adult swim shows and lip gloss stains,being goofy without meaning to,bounces in his step and stops to pet stray animals,baked bread and washi tape bracelets,bike rides and summer picnics,rolling down a hill in the spring and bringing home grass stains on his jeans, waving at someone across a crowded room,spontaneous hang outs and self made clay rings,sitting in the warm sunlit grass on early spring mornings,rock painting and hiding them for other people to find,picking apples from trees but needing to be held up in order to reach one

-Ranboo: The smell of peppermint tea,denim and rain. Is there for everyone but never themselves,regrets things they said but can never find the nerves to apologize,clumps of mascara and winged eyeliner,writes down every tiny thing in notebooks, loves children and their friends,forgetting that they already grabbed a waterbottle,drawing on condensation windows,rainy days and puddles,always on the edge of a breakdown,elevator music and long limbs,old tape recordings and cassettes,moss covered ruins and greenhouses,wanting to be in multiple places at the same time,different colored socks,long hugs and head pats,reading under the covers,collages and spray paint,record players and walks alone through the woods,loves playing by creeks and collecting stones,always wondering and worrying about things they shouldn't,vivid dreams and leather jackets, silver necklaces and piercings,snoozing their alarm clock, seeing the moon in the early morning,blurry photographs and windswept hair,downpours and comfortable silence,wrapping gifts and handing them over with shaking hands,sitting on a rooftop and spontaneous plans,lofi sounds and long train roads,deja vu moments,randomly dissapears and sipping tea, cold concrete and city parks,tickets and brochures from places they visited,dusty parchment and desperately trying to be a good person,wikipedia articles and lace-up boots,often loses track of time while talking to people they love,sings to the radio and avoids conflict if possible,can't sit still for five minutes, perpetually in an emo phase and knows more than they let on, hawaiian shirts,henna tattoos and sparkling water,sleeping in complete darkness and the relief of falling into bed,midnight thunderstorms and anticipation for the coming day,lucky charms and the sound of rain hitting the windows

-Dream: The smell of apples,eucalyptus,vanilla and green tea. Freckles and smiley faces,glow sticks and wrinkled linen, probably a really good singer,wild laughter and jellyfish, popular,tanned skin and cruising with the top down,doesn't take shit from anyone,analytical and self assured,beachy waves and dreamy sunsets,running barefoot,likes being active and on the go at all times,sassy and dramatic as fuck,dream catchers and hammocks,glow in the dark stickers on his phonecase, feisty and a sense of danger,brought home stray cats when he was a child,falling in love with strangers,waking up early and continue laying on the bed,golden hours and 4pm naps,soft aching hands burried in messy hair,center of attention,static and heavy breathing,old percy jackson books under the bed, throwing pebbles at the closed windows of his friends' room, retro diners at 2am,adrenaline junkie and nighttime thriver,will go insane if cooped up indoors for too long,deadlines till last minute,oversleeping and coming home past midnight,naturally a really good surfer,hugs from behind and neck kisses,checking the fridge at 1am,ice cream in bed and cat cuddles,always picks up over facetime

Might make more parts for some of the other guys :)

#mcyt #minecraft youtubers #minecraft #tommyinnit #dreamsmp #wilbursoot #philza #mcytblr #sbi #technoblade #dream #dreamwastaken #ranboo #tubbo #moon is back with all of his awesomeness losers #long post

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skzshortcake · 3 years

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helluuu, can i request a minho bookstore! au, but its enemies to lovers and the "okay, maybe im crazy but did i just hear you say that out loud?" (14) or the "is that the best you can do?" (12) prompt? 🤲💓 thank youuu (and i wanted to say that i really appreciate your blog and what you write!!!! 🥺)

member: minho

prompt: #14 “okay, maybe i’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?” + #12 “is that the best you can do?”

au: bookstore

trope: enemies to lovers

warnings: some angst if you look really hard. i’m really bad at writing minho, i’m so sorry, I did my best! if you have any tips feel free to tell me!

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god. anyone but him. please, not now.

the universe really wasn’t on your side when you saw minho walk through the doors of the bookstore you worked part-time at.

“please don’t look at me. please don’t look at me. please please please.” your mind was moving a million lightyears an hour.

his judging gaze flicked over to you after he browsed the books on the front table. did he even like to read? isn’t he a computer science major? does he think reading a fantasy book is going to make him smarter than me?

“I didn’t know you worked here! so nice to see you.” he faked politeness “would you mind helping me find a certain book, doll?”

doll. he called me “doll”.

“of course.” you try to turn your sneer into a smile. maybe if he was feeling generous he would leave a couple coins in the “tips” jar that was forever empty at the front desk.

“i’m looking for a little something called “algorithms to live by”. do you know where that might be?” he glanced over at you as you walked over to the far right side of the store. you did your best to not look him in the eyes. if you looked at his pretty face for too long you might just fall, that is, if you didn’t already. you didn’t want to give him the time of day, it would probably just get to his head and he would hold his 4.0 grade over your head a bit more.

“i’ve read that book before. it’s over here.” you say in a monotone voice, reaching up and picking the book off of the high shelf that you just put it on just a week ago.

“aww. too short?” he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“is that the best you can do? you’re choosing to insult my height. real mature.” you shove the book lightly into his chest and swiftly walking past him over to the front desk, the lingering feeling of you bumping into his arm left him feeling a little fluttery.

“stupid boy.” you mumble as you sit down in the worn out spinning desk chair again, you pretend to read something on the computer in an attempt to mask the butterflies from getting so close to him.

but he’s just minho? why did you have such a problem?

maybe that was it. it was just minho.

“okay, maybe i’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?” he strides over to you, slightly leaning over the desk to look you in the eye.

oh no. his hand was on the desk. why was he so close? why do I feel embarrassed? my face must be heating up now, is he noticing it? why does this feel so familiar?

“yes. I did. I called you a “stupid boy”. because you are.” your timid voice gains some confidence.

he leans back, not breaking eye contact. “just a “stupid boy”, huh? you sure about that, babe? last time I checked I was just slightly above your grade in class.”

“it’s not about the grade, minho. it’s about how you’re so annoying around me. you’re not like this around anyone else. no, i’m not oblivious. I notice things like that. what is so different about me?” you rant to him, your eyes suddenly finding the corner where the paint on the walls met the molding very interesting. the paint looked chipped at the bottom, and it didn’t completely line up perfectly.

back to minho. you didn’t want to be that direct, but you were pretty fed up with him at this point.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

silence for a moment.

“i’m sorry.”

“what-”

“i’m sorry. I never meant to be mean. I just thought a little bit of competition would be funny. I didn’t know it was too much. you should have told me sooner.”

you’re taken aback, was he really apologizing? was this the same minho that winked at you every time tests were handed back? the one that always acted as if quizzes were a race to the finish line?

“I accept your apology. thank you, minh-”

“you see... the reason I was so... extra, is because I kinda think you’re cute. you’re cute when you’re mad. so I-uh, I probably pushed you too much. i’m sorry.”

he wasn’t looking you in the eye at this point. he held the book in his arms, slightly rocking back and forth on his heels. his glasses slightly fell down his perfectly-sloped nose, and the sweatshirt he wore looked really comfortable. you wondered if it smelled like him.

“I think you’re cute too.” you blurt out, and the chipped paint was interesting again. the sweatshirt and glasses look must have solidified your opinion. you liked him.

why? because it’s just minho.

“so we’re agreed.” he looks back at you and laughs. “give me another moment to browse, then i’ll pay for the book.” and there he went.

you sat at the desk, staring at the same word on the computer to try and process what just happened. “incoming books” it read.

a couple minutes later minho walked back up to the front table, looking more shy and timid than you’ve ever seen him.

“you look a little nervous.” you point out, giving him a comforting smile to show that things were okay after the previous conversation. you scanned the one book. “$18.59 please.”

“i’m not nervous.” he laughs and gives you a gorgeous smile, glad things had returned to normal. he was so enchanting...

“okay then.” you grin as he hands you a $20 bill. you give him the extra change and he drops it all in the tip jar, even pulling out a $10 bill and a small folded paper that was dropped into the jar too.

he winks on the way out, smiling at how flabbergasted you looked.

the door shut. mrs. cadrillion walked back in to the main room.

“who was that darling boy? a friend from school?” she asked, moving another pile of books back into her office.

“a friend... yeah...” you answer her as if you’re on autopilot.

friends. how weird did that sound? it didn’t feel right... you pulled out the $10 bill and note as soon as she closed the door again.

“my number is 289 xxx 5714 <3. call me :) -stupid boy”

you feel even more butterflies, and you quickly glance around the store before you pull out your phone and send a very confident text.

“hey, stupid boy. it’s me. you need to apologize for stealing my heart during work hours. I could get fired for that, ya know.”

you wait a minute, and then a minute more. you get a little worried that the text was too flashy for a moment, until your phone lights up.

“sure thing. how about I take you out for coffee as an apology. maybe if you need more of an apology I can be your “stupid boyfriend.”

there were the butterflies again. stupid boy.

“take me out for coffee first and then we’ll see ;)”

but you already knew your decision.

139 notes · View notes

star-spangledstud · 4 years

Text

SAVE THE DAY

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Peter wants to quit being Spider-Man, but the reader needs saving.

Word Count: 3600-ish.

Warnings: mentions of violence/alcoholism and abuse/hostage situation. Angst with fluffy ending.

A/N: Let’s just pretend Peter didn’t turn into dust during IW. Also, this has a dark theme? I wrote this a while ago and figured I’d post it. It’s pretty bad, sorry.

Peter Parker is sick and tired of being Spider-Man.

Between hardly getting any sleep and his grades faltering miserably because of his nightly escapades, the fact that half of his friends died just three weeks ago doesn’t exactly help his case. He’s tired of putting on the suit, tired of scouring the streets in the dark of night, tired of waiting for crimes to happen when he really should be studying.

Peter lost some of the people he looked up to the most, and ever since he returned home, he hasn’t been able to stop feeling horrendously guilty over the fact that he wasn’t able to save them. He misses his friends, but mostly, he misses his coworkers, half of whom had disappeared into dust. What’s the point of being Spider-Man when you can’t even save the ones you hold dear to your heart?

Peter is seated behind his desk, black ink pen tightly gripped between his clammy fingers. His left palm is stuck under his chin, and his eyes, droopy and fluttery, shift between the clock hanging above the door towards the back of the classroom. His hazel orbs scan everything from the green linoleum floors to the yellow-stained ceiling with its flickering lights. Empty seats line the back walls, desks and chairs stacked on top of each other in a sick manner.

Desks that were once filled with students now sat empty to collect dust and termites. Most of the kids that vanished didn’t even know who Thanos was or what his intentions were. It isn’t fair, Peter thinks as he grips his pen and clenches his jaw. They didn’t deserve to die.

Several of Peter’s classes have been postponed until further notice due to the sudden lack of staff and student body. Of course, Mr. Brown hadn’t vanished, and so, Peter is sitting in his Tuesday morning math class with barely over a dozen other kids. Each one of them looks just as sad, confused and most of all defeated as Peter does, because most of them have lost multiple family members and friends in the blink of an eye without any hope of bringing them back.

James from physics has lost both his parents. Samantha from biology lost only one, but her grandparents as well. Francis from literature didn’t have parents even before the Snap, but lived with her aunt and uncle who both disappeared. The gist of it is clear; grief, hurt and anger surrounds the school like a thick, impenetrable blanket of fire from which nobody can escape and for a moment, Peter doesn’t know on which side of the Snap he’d rather be.

The seconds on the clock tick by agonizingly slowly. Mr. Brown knows nobody in his class gives a shit about potentially solving mathematical problems anymore, but life must go at the end of the day and until anyone has any better ideas, the only thing the school board knows to do is to keep teaching classes to whoever decides to show up. To be fair, even though it’s nothing like how it used to be, school remains the only constant in most of these kids’ lives.

Doubt continues to plague Peter’s cloudy mind as the day progresses. He’s already stuffed his suit in Ned’s locker - he wouldn’t be needing the space anymore anyway. The mere thought of his best friend vanishing into thin air made his fist curl and his eyebrows twitch in anger and every waking moment of his existence he hates himself for not being able to help him make it through the Snap. Then again, maybe it was for the best.

Being alive suddenly didn’t seem like such a great thing anymore with the world in complete shambles.

After class is over, most of the students slowly drag their feet towards the library or the cafeteria. With so many postponed classes, study hours are given left and right until the board has time to conjure a new schedule. Peter slings his backpack over his shoulder and, while dragging his feet to the library, absentmindedly reaches his phone from his back pocket. The latest iPhone he was given by Tony now feels alien in his hand, especially since half of his contacts don’t exist anymore. The Snap chat streak he used to have with Ned died weeks ago, and the last message Peter sent him still sits in Ned’s inbox marked as ‘unread’. Peter grips the device and bites his lip. He has to stop himself from throwing it out of the window all together. Looking at it has become unbearable.

Just as he’s about to shove it back deep inside his pocket, it vibrates. He thinks it’s just his imagination at first, but when his hand shakes for the second time, he lifts up the phone with the thumping of his heart.

It’s you, your name displayed as the caller ID across the screen, followed by blue and red heart emojis. You picked those out yourself.

“What’s up?” he asks after picking up, “where are you? You have no idea how boring math is without you.”

When the line momentarily remains silent on your end, Peter shrugs. You’ve pocket-dialed him before so it doesn’t immediately strike him as odd, and when he calls your name and doesn’t receive a response, he hangs up, finally able to place the phone in his pocket where he hopes it will remain forever.

But it doesn’t remain there forever, because less than a minute later, it rings again, once more flashing your name across the screen for his eyes to see. His groans, but picks up anyway as he stands in front of the library entrance.

“Y/N?” He asks, holding the device tightly to his ear just in case he can hear you in the distance.

“No,” you whisper finally, “he’s going to kill a bunch of people, P.”

Peter’s blood runs cold when the call is ended once again. He wastes no time sprinting towards Ned’s old locker and holds his breath when he dashes through the empty hallways. Before he gets there, he calls you back. You don’t answer.

Peter sneaks the costume into his backpack and changes into it in the empty bathroom near the physics lab. He stuffs his backpack inside the air vent and dials your number again. With his phone stuck tightly against his ear, he jumps out of the window.

You are one of the only people Peter still has left and vice versa. The two of you have been friends for ages, sharing nearly every class and you, him and Ned always sit together for lunch. The three of you would hang out together after school as well; you saw movies together and played video games on the weekends. You texted each other constantly.

The Snap wiped out nearly your entire family. Your mother, little brother and both of your grandparents and your aunt and uncle on both sides. You were left with nobody but your step-father.

Peter knows the two of you don’t get along. The man drinks too much, stays out too late even during the week and sometimes, he doesn’t even come home for days. Your mother always welcomed him back with open arms and chose to ignore the empty bottles of vodka and whiskey in the trash. She ignored the perfume on his clothes and his behavior towards you and stayed with him, a man so unstable he couldn’t hold jobs longer than a few months at a time. Her blindness to his shenanigans always angered Peter, because the relationship between your mother and step-father affected you in more ways than you cared to admit.

He knows you wish it was him who died instead of your mom and frankly, Peter wishes the same. He never liked the guy.

Peter is extremely worried about you, because he knows the drinking has doubled since your mom died. You’ve been skipping school to take care of the household and you know very well how Peter feels about your step-father’s lack of participation in and around the home. He started taking you away from your house whenever he could find the time and you’d even met Tony Stark the first time Peter took you to the tower. It surprised Peter to see how well the two of you got along, but then again, computer science is your favorite subject in school so it’s something the two of you could bond over. Well, it used to be anyway, because the class got dropped after the teacher and eight of his students got lost in the Snap.

Peter’s heart rams against his rib cage when you finally answer the phone. In the background, he can hear people screaming and shouting.

“Y/N? Where the hell are you?” He asks, using his webs to sling himself from building to building to avoid being seen in broad daylight.

“Central bank,” you whisper under shaky breaths, “gun. Can’t talk.”

The line goes dead once again, and Peter immediately changes direction.

You knew something was wrong when Hank offered to drive you to school this morning, because he’d never volunteered to take you anywhere before and you doubted he would start now. The red rims around his dull, yellow eyes made you decline his proposal at first but he insisted, and in fear of getting hurt by a man nearly twice your size, you finally agreed to have him drive you to school. You weren’t in any kind of mood to argue with him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to provoke him. Besides, the drive would only take ten minutes, while walking took you nearly half an hour, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

It saddened you to see him like this. The two of you never really got along, but at least a small part of you hoped that the shared loss of your mom and little brother would bring you some type of twisted companionship, something dark to bond over. You wanted to ask him if Peter could stay over for dinner, but the dark sweat stains on his creme t-shirt and his iron grip on the wheel made you stay quiet.

Hank never liked talking when he had a hangover. Talking too much always made him angry, and you don’t like seeing him pissed off. Granted, the only times he’d physically hurt you were when he was so drunk he couldn’t even tell you his own name, but you still fear him even now, afraid that one day he might actually do something he can never take back. With this knowledge, you typically stick to avoiding him on mornings after he’s had too much to drink. Nowadays though, it’s all he does.

Even when he deviates from the usual route to your school, you bite your tongue in fear of pissing him off. Perhaps, you think, he’s forgotten the location of your school or maybe he’s too hungover to think straight and the entire time, you expect him to turn around. He doesn’t, but wen he finally does stop, he does so in front of Central Bank.

You finally dare to speak up, asking him quietly what the two of you are doing there and fully expect him to sneer at you, to spit out that he’s only going to withdrawal money from your mother’s account again so he can support his bad habits, but instead of answering, he leaves you in the car and reaches for the trunk.

“What are you doing?!” You ask fearfully when he rips open your door and grabs a fistful of your hair.

“Shut up and don’t make a sound, got it?”

He pulls your head towards the ground when he walks, so the only thing you can see is the beat up sneakers on his feet and the terrifying barrel of a semi-automatic weapon. There’s no security guard near the entrance, but you don’t have enough time to wonder where he might be, because Hank’s already crossed the threshold and he’s shouting like mad when you realize what the hell is going on.

"Everybody sit the fuck down on the ground or I'll kill every last of one you!"

Screams erupt from every corner, and as Hank angrily waves the gun around in an attempt to scare the customers and bank personnel, people left and right begin to duck behind chairs, desks and in booths. You can hear a baby crying somewhere nearby, and your palms are sweating and shaky when you curl them into fists. You’ve always known he’s crazy, but even for him, this is fucking insane.

"Hank, what the fuck are you doing?" You scream, feeling the pressure of his grip on your neck sting like a hot iron.

"Shut up, before I shut you up myself. Don't make a god damn sound, you hear me? That goes for all of you!"

The next hour is a complete blur. Shots are fired into cream-colored walls, demands are made on stolen cellphones and most of all, you and everybody else inside is scared shitless. Hank forces you to sit in of the empty chair behind counter three, the one where people come to apply for loans. He continues to keep the gun pointed mostly at you - the hostage he uses to negotiate his demands. You called Peter when his back was turned to you, but couldn’t speak at first out of pure terror of being seen or heard.

Outside, flashing red and blue lights draw near, and the sound of multiple helicopters rounding the perimeter nearly drowns out the sound of Hank’s screeching voice when one of the clerks makes an unexpected move. You’ve never seen him this angry and doubt you’ll ever see it again. Practically all bank transfers are conducted digitally nowadays, most banks using shares on the stock market to finance their customer’s savings accounts. Sure, there’s physical money inside, but none of the desk clerks have access to the vault where they keep the big bucks. How Hank didn’t realize this is a mystery to you.

You’re starting to realize time is running out when SWAT arrives with a hostage negotiator. Peter can feel his heart nearly exploding inside his chest when he thinks of you as he slings his way across the city. He’s never run faster across rooftops, but he doesn’t take a moment to breathe until he makes it there.

It doesn’t take him very long to sneak inside through one of the top floor’s open windows. Peter ignores the news camera’ that zoom in on him while he climbs inside, swallowing thickly at the knowledge that Tony’ll probably be pissed off later.

He jumps down the staircase, swinging from left to right and balancing on the barricades until he reaches the first floor of the old building. Directly beneath him, he can hear the commotion and when he finally finds an air vent in one of the break rooms, he uses his webs to fling himself up and inside. His phone vibrates again when he’s slowly crawling his way through the dusty vents, but he doesn’t answer, because he can see you sitting in your chair shaking like a leaf when he finally reaches one of the vents that lead to the main entrance.

He notices your step-father walking anxiously in circles, his eyes wildly darting across the entire ground floor to make sure nobody tried to take him down. He needs money now that his source of income has died and the amount of debt he finds himself in leads him to believe this is the only way to do it.

Peter quickly and quietly unscrews the roster that allows fresh air to distribute throughout the ground floor and silently moves it to the side.

Look up.

He quickly texts you, but doesn’t realize your phone might make a sound until he’s already pressed send. He releases a deep breath when you check the message, and begin to search around the ceiling with a worried frown on your face until your finally eyes land on him halfway hidden in the darkness.

You sigh inaudibly but tremble when the gun goes off three times and Hank begins to shout at a mother and her crying baby.

“I'm going to get you out," Peter mouths at you after pushing up his mask you you can see his lips.

He has to get the gun away from Hank, who is now pacing back and forth on the other side of the wall. With one swift motion, Peter drops down from the vent with his finger pushed against his mask to let the people know to keep quiet. He slides behind your chair and gives your hand a tight squeeze before disappearing just in time to see the barrel of the gun followed by Hank.

Sweat drips down the man’s face and back, veins popping angrily in his neck protruding from his temples. Outside, the hostage negotiator uses a megaphone to shout at him, but it’s as if nobody is paying attention to what he’s saying. You only have eyes for Peter, who’s crouched under one of the desks, his arms stretched out in front of him so he can get a good angle on Hank.

Before you get a chance to do as much as blink, silvery webs shoot out from Peter's wrists. They latch onto the cold metal of the firearm and begin to quickly retreat, pulling the weapon out of Hank's sweaty palms. He accidentally pulls the trigger when he struggles to hold on to the only thing that’s currently keeping him alive, firing four shots into the wall before the gun clashes to the ground and drags away from him.

His eyes bulge out of his head when he sees Spider Man, now standing on top of the desk. Peter yanks his arms back, flinging the weapon towards the security guard, who was sitting near the water cooler next to the staff room. The man doesn’t hesitate to pick it up and disarm it, emptying the magazine onto the ground until every last bullet falls to the ground with a clang. They bounce across the floor and roll under desks and at people's feet, away from the man who threatened to kill with them.

Within minutes, the entire place is surrounded by SWAT and cops, their guns aimed at the man who was willing to kill innocent people for his own benefit.

You can hardly get up from your chair when you feel something warm and smooth pressed up against your body. You instantly feel your knees buckling under you, but Peter uses his strength to keep you from falling. Reporters outside try their hardest to catch a glimpse of what’s going on inside the bank, but police officers hold them back as best they can, cutting off their view with all their might while the two of you hug.

Your entire body trembles and your heart feels like it was going to explode as you shivered in Peter's arms, holding onto the boy for what felt like dear life.

"Shh," he whispers in your ear, "It's okay. I got you."

You try to speak, to thank him for coming as quickly as he did, but nothing comes out except throaty stutters and shaky breaths. You’re hurting, even a blind man can see it.

“You came,” you manage, “he just lost it.”

“Of course I did silly,” he replies, “I couldn’t let you get hurt, could I?”

People all around you gasp audibly when Peter pulls off his mask, synapses doing jumping jacks when you come face to face with him in public. He’s never taken off the mask in front of people before, especially not in front of reporters, and out of all of the Avengers, his identity is the only one that up until now remained a secret. Peter isn’t thinking about what Tony might say or what Steve might think. He’s not concerned with the gaping expressions of journalists and cops alike, or with the newspapers that will have his face plastered on the front page tomorrow. He doesn’t care because grown attached to you.

The feeling had crept up on him slowly, and he hadn’t realized it until now, when the possibility of losing you for the second time in such a short amount of time finally managed to get it through his head.

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyes wide and pupils blown out.

“I want you to see me,” he says, “not the mask.”

“But-” you stammer, “your identity. They’ll know. Everyone will know.”

“I don’t care anymore,” Peter uses his thumb to caress your cheek, “let ‘em know that spider man’s just a kid from Queens. I’m sick of hiding.”

The small smile that plays on your rosy lips makes his heart skip a beat. He’s in love with you, has been for a while now, and Peter’s pretty sure the adrenaline surging in his veins is the reason for the sudden realization. He opens his mouth to speak and the words dangle on the tip of his tongue, but he remains silent when a police officer drapes a blanket over your shoulders and asks you if you require medical attention.

He’ll tell you, he reckons. When the time is right.

172 notes · View notes

cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Note

would it be ok to ask for hcs of the main 6 + vaderwood and how they would react to their normally energetic and funny mc being a little off and making some self-deprecating jokes (like a little too dark to be funny) as a way of coping and hiding their anxiety/depression? if not thats ok im just in a similar mood today.

self-deprecating jokes are my thing too, tbh. hope you’re feeling better! Also, I couldn’t picture Vandy for this particular hc, I’m sorry :c

Yoosung

This boy honestly loves how fun you are. He will always laugh with you and you don’t tease him that much (Saeyoung does that for you)

One day, when he comes home from his job at the vet, he finds you calling for pizza. He lets you finish the call and then you look up.

“Hey, welcome back! I accidentally left the stove on for too long and messed up dinner” you casually said, with a small giggle. “So I called Pizza Hut, hope it’s okay”.

“It’s okay!” he says. “I love pizza”

“I know, me too” you smile. You stand up and stretch your arms. “Okay, so I’ll take a shower before it gets here. How the fuck did I forget the stove on, I don’t know” you laugh. “I swear to God I would totally leave me at this point”.

Yoosung says nothing, shocked. He watches you walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. He knows you like to joke around, but that joke had been pretty specific. Leave you? Why would he leave you? Over some burnt food?!

He waits until you come out, wrapped in a towel and hands you a cup of your favourite tea. You smile weakly.

“An award for my awful cooking?” you tease him.

“Hey! It’s just food! And you solved it. I don’t really care, MC, please let it go”. He sees your lips tremble a little bit. “Are you okay?”

You had a really rough day at work. You tell him all about it while sipping on the tea and he silently listens to you, nodding at the right times. The pizza finally arrives and he puts on your favourite show so you both can watch it. When you go to bed, he makes sure to give you extra cuddles, so you never have to feel any more pressure on yourself.

Zen

Honestly, he’s not the best at comedy. But he really likes how much you can make yourself laugh with your own jokes.

He comes home and hands you his tablet. You arch an eyebrow and look at him from the couch. He sits beside you and asks you to press play. You nod and comply his request.

It’s a video from rehearsal. He’s singing at he’s actually hitting all the notes just right. You smile softly, watching the video in silence. When it’s over, you turn and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re amazing, babe. You did the song soooo good! How can you be so talented?”

“Thank you, babe. And I don’t know, can’t help it. I’m just talented.” he shrugs, with a confident smile.

“Well, someone has to be” you responded quickly. His smiled faltered and he looked at you, confused.

“What are you talking about? You are talented too. I’ve seen your drawings, those building projects you have been working on. They’re masterpieces, MC, I love them and–”

“I didn’t get the job, Zen” you quickly answer, not looking at him. “They didn’t like those ‘masterpieces’” you added, making the colons signs with his fingers.

Oh. So they had already sent you the email.

Zen would put the tablet aside and hold you on the couch. Whisper over and over again how talented you truly are and how they were in the wrong for not noticing it.

“If they can’t see how brilliant you are, why would you want to work for them?” he asked. “I’ve been rejected more times that I can count. I know how you feel. And you know what makes me feel better?”

You look at him and shake your head.

Ten minutes later, you’re both riding on his motorcycle, feeling the air against your face. you hug him tighter and smile.

Jaehee

Jaehee’s not one for jokes. But she does enjoy the occasional laugh she has with you. You make tons of jokes, but, unlike Saeyoung, you know when to stop

“Babyyyyyyyy, I’m a mess!” you complained, stretching on your bed. Both of you were working on your laptops, when suddenly you put yours aside.

“C’mon. Help me, Excel Goddess! Can’t seem to make this thing to work and I need to show it to my boss tomorrow” you asked. Jaehee smiled softly, put her laptop aside and grabbed yours. She started typing formulas, fixing your work.

“You’re so good to me, baby. Thank youuuu. That’s why you’re the smart one here”. Jaehee just smiled, continuing her work.

“They should have taught me Excel in school instead of sports. Did anyone of my class turn out to be an athlete? No one. Are we struggling to get a job because we don’t know shit about Excel? We are”.

“Maybe that’s why I’m failing. Maybe that’s why I had to settle with this shitty job, because I can’t comprehend the monster that in Microsoft Excel. Maybe that’s also why my Computer Science teacher hated me at school” you said dramatically. Jaehee chuckled softly.

“Maybe that’s why my whole life is a mess right now. Maybe that’s why I can’t find joy in the things I do anymore, maybe that’s why my father left us. Because I’m a shitty person who can’t do Excel and can’t get a decent job”.

She stopped typing and looked over at you.

“MC. What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m tired. Don’t think about it too much”

“I-… Do you want me to talk to Mr. Han? Maybe there’s a position and… I know C&R takes most of my time but an entry level job may be good– at least for your resumé and–”

“I’m fine. Don’t think about it, baby” you dismissed, but Jaehee grabbed your hand.

“Can’t you really find joy anymore?” she asked. You sighed.

“Happens to me when the cold weather beggins. Will go away in a couple of weeks” you shrugged. Jaehee squeezed your hand.

“Let me know if I can do anything to help you… well, find joy again”.

“You do help!” you assured her. “I can find bits of joy here” you smiled and gave her a small kiss. She smiled and kissed you back.

Jumin

Jumin doesn’t understand most of your jokes. Most of the times, you have to explain them to him. He doesn’t mind, but it’s only because he really enjoys watching you laugh at your own jokes. The sight of you giggling it’s enough to light up any day.

That day, you decided to visit him during lunch. Which wasn’t a rare occurrence, you tried to visit him at least once a week, making sure with Jaehee you wouldn’t be interrupting.

“Good afternoon, my love. Didn’t expect you here” he greeted you, giving your cheek a tender kiss when you approached him. You gave him the bento you had prepared and sat in front of him, on the other side of his desk.

“I know. I just thought your darling, loving wife might make an appearence. I do have to keep those heiresses away from you” you laughed. He smiled softly and opened his bento. “Don’t want them making you change your mind about marrying some poor girl who couldn’t even afford university by herself”.

Jumin arched his eyebrow while eating his lunch. “Is there a problem with your classes? I thought you were excited about finally attending university, even if most of the classes are online for security reasons. Are the professors not competent enough? Are they not grading you fairly?”

You laughed. “No, Jumin, classes are fine. I just… Don’t really fit with your social class, you know. I mean, I knew I wouldn’t fit, but someday’s it really… just… I don’t know. You can put a working class girl in a Channel, but you can’t really change who she really is inside, right?” you smiled weakly.

Jumin furrowed his eyebrows, visibly upset. “What are you talking about?”

Your facade disappear and you sighed. You reached out for his hand and held it tighly.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me. I love you, I really do. Nothing can change that. But I can’t– I can’t pretend I don’t hear the whispers when I come here to have lunch with you. How I listen to them mocking these nice clothes you bought for me” you said, pointing at your light blue dress he had given you. “I don’t… I didn’t grow up with these things. I must look really dumb pretending to be part of a class I’m not”.

“Who made that comment?” he asks, angrily.

You try to cover it up, but after some pushing, you tell him it’s the secretary that works two offices away. She has a desk beside Jaehee’s. Jumin stands up, not stopping when you ask him to. He takes one step outside his office and spots the secretary you must be talking about.

“You’re fired. Assistant Kang, take care of that paperwork”.

Jumin returned to his office and locked the door. You can’t believe what just happened. He walks over to you and lifts up your chin with his hand, gently.

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you you don’t belong here. Or that you don’t deserve elegant clothes or anything I want to give to you. I know you didn’t grow up the same as me, but that’s why I love you. Because you didn’t look at me and saw my money or C&R, you looked at me. At who I was. Who I could be. I want to be the best man I can be, just for you. And I want to please you, giving you anything I can so you can enjoy life at its fullest. Also, look at you” he said, taking a look at your whole outfit. “You look breathtaking. You look classy, and it’s not just the dress” he smirked, kissing your cheek and making his way to your neck, leaving you a mess of giggles.

Saeyoung

Ok, so we all agree he’s the king of dark humour and self-deprecating jokes.

And he’s used to be like that around you and sometimes you make the same jokes and you both just laugh it out.

So that day, he doesn’t notice something’s off from the start.

He’s fixing the robot cat, since it had been malfunctioning. You’re reading a magazine on the couch while he’s sitting on the floor, both of you talking on and off.

“One day you should teach me who to do that. You know, fixing stuff and such”

“I wil! But you’ll need to call me sensei during our lessons.”

“Sensei? Isn’t that japanese?”

“It is! I’ll be your sensei if you wish. But what do you want to learn to fix?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to be the dumb one of the relationship”

“Awww. But we make such a good pair~”

“Just because you haven’t got tired of me yet” you chuckle.

“How could I get tired of your cooking? Never!~ I swear my mouth waters just thinking about your waffles.”

You laugh. “That’s all I am? My cooking?”

“Well, also how clean you keep this, Ms. Vanderwood hasn’t been complaining as much as before” he teases you.

“Well, you know I have to keep this apartment clean and your stomach full. That’s why I’m here, right? Until you get tired of my stupidness” you chuckle.

Saeyoung looks back at you, stopping on his fixing of robo-cat. He’s not longer smiling.

“… You really think that? That I think you’re stupid?”

“Well… I’m no genius. I’m just one more secretary, I’m… c’mon. You’d have more fun with someone who’s just as smart as you. I’m just here… until my time’s done. I’ve accepted it long ago.”

Suddenly he’s over you, making you lay on the couch, pinning both your arms over your head.

“Stop! What? Stop, just stop, what are you even saying?! You are kind, compassionate, generous and the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen. You stayed by my side when I was at my worst. You saw all parts of me and still loved me. I’m the one who isn’t worthy of someone as loving and forgiving as you. I– I could never. I could have never rescued Saeran without you. I could have never been happy or even think about real happiness if it weren’t for you. So honestly, what if you don’t know anything about computers or hacking? That doesn’t matter to me. It’s you and your heart. It’s always been about your loving heart, MC. Please, please don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ve loved you my whole life. Even before I met you. I just didn’t realize it.”

Your eyes water

damn, saeyoung i almost cried as well, you fucker

You both stay on the couch, holding each other until you fall asleep. He keeps whispering soft and warm words to your ear every now and then, making sure you never doubt yourself again.

Saeran

“i want to die” “same”

It’s so usual for you both to make dark jokes, he doesn’t really notice when it stops being a joke to you.

You’re both laying on the couch. You’re on top of him, resting your head on his chest. You can’t remember how it started, but you start joking around.

“Your girlfriend’s a mess, you know”

“She is. Have you seen her hair?” he teased.

“What the hell does she think she’s doing? Have you seen the way she dresses?”

“Total mishap. It’s like a match made in hell”

“And her voice? More like a screech” you laugh, making fun of your own voice.

“Will she ever shut up?” he sighed dramatically, smirking softly.

“Why does she think she actually make someone happy?” you chuckle. His smile disappears.

Saeran stays silent for a minute. “You’re not happy?”

are you not happy with him? has he already bored you out of your mind? are you having second thoughts about your relationship? because he’s been trying, he’s been seeing a psychologist and even though there still isn’t a big change, he— is it because there hasn’t been a big change?

“Well, you’re not” you replied in a small voice. “And I can’t– And I don’t how– Maybe it’s me?”

So, Saeran decides to try something he’s been talking about with his psychologist. Better now than ever, he thought.

“I love you”

You raise your head, looking at him in disbelief. He’s never said that before. When you started dating, he had kissed you and you had understood how it was hard for him to express feelings due to the severe trauma he had gone through, so you hadn’t pushed him but… Saeran was still looking at you, a tense expression on his face. You suddenly realized you hadn’t said anything back.

“I love you too”. You had said it before. You had told him that a million times, but it was the first time you said it back.

“I know it seems I’m not making progress– But I think I am? I mean, I just told you that, right?” he said, scratching his head, a little nervous. “He said we were going to work on expressing feelings, and it was easier to express the most intense ones.”

“Your most intense feeling– one of your most intense feelings is loving me?” you asked, still surprised.

“Shut up” he said, making you laugh for real this time.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger headcanon #mysme hc #mystic messenger hc #mm hc #mm jumin #mm zen #mm jaehee #mm yoosung #mm saeyoung #i've lost my ability to make small hcs #this turned out to be seven pages on a google doc #SEVEN #will i ever make small hcs again #idk

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 144: Hermione's Helping Hand

The room was a very dangerous landing, each of them got a book to the head no matter where they landed. Frank was on a flaming red comforter on the bed with a dog eared copy, the title so faded he hadn't a hope of recognizing it until he flipped through a few pages, and even then did not follow the Muggle story.* Alice had a heavy tomb smash so hard against her forehead she saw stars, and it was over a copy of some muggle thing to do with the human anatomy a Healer would struggle to follow.

Lily groaned miserably as she removed a book on alchemy from her face, and Potter's glasses had broken where he'd faced planted a window with an interesting view of a Muggle neighborhood and still had a book on the windowsill crack a lens he couldn't even read the title of now.

Peter had to pull himself out from a whole pile of books, on top of which was Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard, and Regulus even found one on teeth he had to dislodge from his own.

Remus landed painfully on a desk, the book losing its place as the bookmark toppled out of sight he felt bad for, and Sirius even found a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages to his distaste for the first time in his life as he pulled it from where it had whacked his ear.

The silver book itself they were all supposed to be here for sat in the middle of the room with the air of innocence. For once.

"As if we haven't been traumatized by enough books already," James sighed as he tapped his glasses to fix them.

"If this room isn't Hermione's, then I'll kiss a centaur," Sirius happily informed the room at large.

"Brilliant deduction there," Lily rolled her eyes, but there was only amusement in her voice. "Did you figure that out before or after this?" She was holding a picture of Hermione in this very room, a still image of her sitting at this very desk with Crookshank's in her lap, the sun just visible on the horizon from the window.

The walls didn't house much decoration, it was simple yet charming to see so much of her personality packed into the comfortably sized room.

"The best part is, I bet this is only a quarter of the ones she owns," James grinned. "She takes most of them with her to school!"

Sirius laughed and Lily found herself smiling in agreement as Lupin tried the door, which mercifully opened. The others scattered about the house, some for the loo, some for the kitchen. Sirius made to do the latter, but lingered in the door jam to watch in fascination as Prongs hesitated, and then turned back to Evans.

There was a reluctance in him he'd seen a few times now, and he had a very good guess why James was suddenly so hesitant to engage with her. He'd been devastated by the news of Sirius' death, arguably more than him even, and it wasn't hard to follow his logic if he had to change something to keep it from happening it would be taking Harry out of the equation via her. He wished his brother wouldn't think like that, but he'd never liked Evans much himself to understand his fascination with her and so wasn't even sure how to urge him back.

When James turned back holding in whatever he'd been about to say though, Lily startled them both by asking, "so, do you know what a dentist is?" The tone was mild, maybe a little mocking, but she was now holding the book Regulus had spat out with a curious smile.

He would have expected James, as usual, to not actually know how to respond to her when she spoke like a normal human being. Instead he hesitated with an odd smile in place and said casually, "not really, but I got the idea. Teeth and such, Muggles need them cared for without a spell."

Prongs hesitated again, some torn expression lingering, before he softly asked as if speaking of her ill coming death, "how come you never took Care of Magical Creatures?"

Sirius snorted fantastically, earning a dirty look from both of them. He raised his hands in surrender and took a step back into the hall, where Remus came up and pulled on him out of sight. James turned back to watching her, still unsure if he should have asked. She'd gotten assurances on their first day from McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn all the creatures came to no harm for their classes to commence. He'd watched her love of animals long after that, she'd taken to cuddling with every cat in the common room and watched the birds deliver post every morning despite receiving none of her own long after other Muggle-borns grew used to it, but that look of awe and longing lingered in her.

Just because he'd given up on the idea of her didn't mean he couldn't still learn more about her, right? It was something he'd wanted to know for years but obviously she'd never have answered before. Maybe if he tried without the flirting he'd get a better result.

And, it worked. She went a little red, but answered casually, "I was trying to prove something, to my parents, to Snape, myself. Taking Arithmancy and Runes, the harder and more difficult classes. I regret it a bit now."

Potter watched her, absolutely fascinated by her little speech it seemed. She kept waiting for that to wear off now that she was actually trying to talk to him on a regular basis, but it didn't seem to be happening.

"You can take it come NEWT year if you want," he told her, that damnable cheerful smile creeping back now as they managed the first casual conversation of their life. "Remus will lend you his notes for the OWL's next week if you want."

She laughed in surprise, then realized he wasn't joking. He really thought she was that smart she could take a class she hadn't been in for two years? "I'll, ah, take that into consideration," she tried to shrug.

He hesitated, seemed to decide he'd pushed her enough, and then finally left. He'd gotten her to laugh, that was more of an accomplishment he'd managed in his life already! He glanced the way two of his friends went, rolled his eyes, and called towards the kitchen, "hey Alice, want to show me how a muggle stove works!"

Lily blanched in fear of him burning the house down and snatched up the actual needed book, not bothering to pretend to herself she was smiling as she followed along and cracked it open, but paused to take in the rest.

The hallway was littered with cheerful hallmark signs such as 'Love, Life, Live,' and several more of Hermione through the years, but Lily kept watching the muggle photos despite the fact that they weren't moving in mild curiosity for several moments before it occurred to her why they seemed a little odd. Hermione was alone in each of them, smiling brightly, but the only one in focus. Not only no friends hanging off her arm in her primary years as she held up spelling awards and science fair projects, but her parents didn't seem in any of them either. One particularly telling one was a candid shot of a very young Hermione sitting in an empty waiting room, reading a book far too big for her lap. Only when she got to the very end of most recent photos hinted at who could have been there all these years, and it was an extremely elder lady, possibly her grandmother or even a nanny, the photo at such an angle it was clearly taken by her as well as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Hermione. The tender look of love in the older woman's eyes only leveled with the weary exhaustion in the folds of her skin. Beneath that was a hand drawn calligraphy plaque with the year and date, but no other sort of explanation except her socially awkward behavior from back at the first book.

The kitchen seemed to double as a study, there were heavy journals on multiple surfaces, Frank was flipping curiously through one that was ear marked with dates, names, and what the appointment was going to be for, another that Regulus was prodding his wand along curiously through every page seemed to house lots of studies and practices on how Hermione's parents could improve their work. She doubted he followed a word, even she probably couldn't.

The chapter title itself was unsurprising, and she went through it still laughing it was all about Harry's first act as Captain sorting out members of his team, indeed with Hermione's help. Wasn't this just a day of surprises.

Potter continued to rank highest of all in that regards. The look on his face when he found out what Hermione did was priceless.

The reason behind it she misunderstood.

"She cheated? On Quidditch! I'd expect this girl to snog Snape before I heard her do something like this!"

"She did set Snape on fire once during a game." Alice happily reminded as she swatted his hand away from the hot surface, again. He seemed to keep forgetting despite the red light and heat waves coming up from the innocent black circle. "Guess her bar goes out the window during sports," she finished with a giggle.

His flummoxed expression still seemed at war if he should be impressed or agitated at this, while Regulus was snickering relentlessly for the show as well as he said, "I thought it was brilliant, as if I want to sit around hearing about that McLaggen's temper for the games, he'll ruin what little fun we've been getting out of these."

His eyes tracked curiously as he seemed to realize his brother wasn't in here to give his opinion, but seemed distracted enough when Peter spoke, "think of it this way, you or Padfoot would have done it to some arse in the hallway if he was really saying half that shite. Does the location matter that much?"

"I mean, yes," he pouted, but if anything he looked more confused. "Quidditch shouldn't be trifled with," he finished with a hint of defiance, but eventually sighed and turned back to turning the stove on and off with the odd switch and all the numbers while she finished.

Remus let his fingers brush against Sirius' and subtly pulled his fingers before letting go. Sirius needed no further prompting before following him out of the room into what must be Hermione's parents room. Remus didn't care as he locked the door and then hugged Sirius.

He laughed in delight, immediately returning it as he said quietly into his neck, "I'm getting whiplash from you."

"I just wanted to make sure you know I'm grateful," Remus told him as he pulled back, having to remind himself not to let his hands linger. "For not beating Frank's face into a pulp, back in the apothecary," he elaborated.

The fact that Sirius never held his mood swings against him or even ever accused him of being moody because of the full moon made him wish he could snog his face off right about now. Merlin, James had barely been involved and he'd called him on being an emotional ass!

"Oh," Sirius' face did not settle into a promising expression, barely concealed anger still there, but he made such a valiant effort to push it back away Remus had to fight back the urge to kiss him again. "Right, you're welcome. If he had done it on purpose though, I can't say I'd have been able to stop myself." Moony and Prongs had made a valid point, better Longbottom occasionally forget the dangers than continue being a racist arse, but his point still stood there was a middle ground that wouldn't put Remus in pain! The Marauders all knew it, couldn't he?!

Remus really couldn't resist and let his hand brush along his cheek and settle down on his neck as he gazed into his eyes. Sirius hummed as always at the physical affection. Remus could have hugged him back in the apothecary and not been an arse about this too! This really would just have to be enough for him, he could never ask for better friends. He reluctantly let his hand drop back away with one more whispered thanks.

Sirius looked hurt though, to Remus' confusion. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" He denied, he really hadn't thought Sirius would realize he was starting to back off yet, as much else as he was dealing with.

"Remus, you've barely looked at me since the polyjuice prank," Sirius finally called his crap. "So if you're not mad at me, would you please say so?"

"I'm not," Remus instantly promised. Merlin if he was mad at Sirius for every stupid prank he'd never not be enraged at this one. "I'm, mad at myself." He finally reluctantly admitted.

Sirius' face clouded with concern. Even on top of dealing with James, Peter, and Regulus at once Padfoot hadn't once tried to cope a field on him for some fun away from them while in this room, and a traitorous bubble of hope still lingered in Remus' chest this could mean more to Sirius. They were just friends with benefits, he instantly reminded himself. Friends! Of course he cares, you know he does.

"Anything I can do to help?" Sirius was even the one to reach for his hand, their fingers naturally intertwining.

"It's, Harry," he finally gave a half truth, which was still a truth that the book provided. He couldn't believe he'd only been back in Prongs's kids life once so far this year with Sirius out of the picture. "Not even writing to him, I'm just, this future- I don't want to stop-" He stopped himself quickly before something stupid came out. 'Being there for you,' probably sounded way too intimate to Padfoot. Maybe if he'd actually been around Sirius during that awful Ministry fight he would have come back out of it and none of this would be thrown in their face so repeatedly!

What kind of heartless monster couldn't do the bare minimum to look after one of his best friends kids anyways? And he was complaining Sirius wasn't ready for more, he clearly wasn't capable of it either.

Sirius had such a beautiful smile, and one he so rarely showed anyone. A smirk, his teasing grin were all anyone but the Marauders ever got to see, and Remus drank his fill in now as Padfoot squeezed his fingers while mimicking as well, tracing his cheek before letting his hand rest on his neck as they naturally mirrored each other. Remus wouldn't dream of denying he instantly felt warm and assured as he leaned into the touch even before Sirius told, "this future's a mess Moony. Don't kick yourself about this poor kids life we have no control over. We'll find a way to fix this."

He spoke with such assurance it's like they should have heard the very words Evans was reading change to match. Remus was convinced Sirius could hypnotize the moon to never be full again in that moment as he leaned in and kissed him.

It was just sweet, and gentle. There was no randiness in either of them, just a silent promise as Remus leaned back that no matter what, his words would be true.

HPHPHPHP

*Let me know what you think Hermione's favorite book is. I personally always thought it was Sherlock Holmes.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Hermione's Home #HP #HBP #Marauders #Wolfstar #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Evans #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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hawkinshellfire · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Chapter 10 - Paper Rings

Kiss you once 'cause I know you had a long night

Kiss you twice 'cause it's gonna be alright

Three times 'cause you waited your whole life

The Hideaway was one of the few places in Hawkins that Joyce rarely frequented. Being a minor, she wasn’t allowed in after-hours but she wasn’t a huge fan of the grungy atmosphere the establishment presented anyway. She could count on one hand how many times she’s been here in the past decade, tonight being one of those times.

Hopper had picked her up after her parents were asleep, signalling the usual way and watching from the car as she slipped out her bedroom window. Earlier at school, he insisted that they needed a night out to make up for lost time and Joyce, though initially she put up a fight, gave in and agreed to meet him.

They hadn’t talked about what happened (or almost happened) at the fair, but she could feel things beginning to shift between them. Today, they ate lunch together beneath the bleachers and laughed like they hadn’t laughed since they were kids. They agreed to move past all the bullshit and drama from the past month and move forward with their friendship, but neither of them forgot about what almost happened between them. Hopper made it clear that his feelings for her extended far beyond platonic, and she knew he was waiting for her to indicate that she was on the same page before jeopardizing what they almost broke, again.

He‘d surprised her by telling her he made arrangements for them to play pool in one of the back rooms of the Hideaway. Initially, she didn’t believe him when he told her that this was where they were going. They were underage and it was far past the hour when the bar opened, but he’d somehow managed to convince the manager, an old friend of his fathers, to hold a table for them.

“You ready to get your ass kicked, Horowitz?” he smirks while he adds chalk to the end of his pool cue.

They’re the only two people in the room, dimly light and buzzing with the faint sound of the neon signs lining the battered walls. The green felt-lined table lay beneath an old red and blue glass light fixture, surrounded by walls covered in random newspaper articles in pale wooden frames.

Hopper hands Joyce a cue and moves to rack the balls. Dressed in her leather jacket and a dark pair of jeans, she fits in with the bar aesthetic and he momentarily envies the way she naturally exists anywhere.

“I’m pretty good,” she fires back. She walks a few paces around the edge of the table and waits for him to remove the plastic triangle from the corralled balls.

“When have you ever played pool?” he asks.

“Josie taught me.”

He gets quiet, her reference to the time when they weren’t speaking rendering him momentarily speechless. He hated himself for letting her slip out of his life so easily.

“Can I break?” she asks.

“Be my guest,” he gestures towards the table.

Leaning forward, one hand wrapped around the wooden cue, thumb propping up the edge, Joyce sends the white ball flying towards the others, which scatter across the table. She sinks a solid and follows up by sinking another before resigning to Hopper.

“Holy shit,” he remarks after her first turn.

“I told you. Get ready to lose,” she winks.

She takes the first game but loses the second and the third not-so-graciously. She whines that Hopper’s cheating when he takes the lead in the third game, even though they both know he isn’t.

Partway through their fourth game, Joyce loses interest and finds herself sitting between the corner and side picket, legs dangling from the edge of the table, while Hopper continues to practice around her.

“Aren’t you bored yet?” she pouts, leaning back with both palms on the table.

“Practice makes perfect,” he grins. On the opposite side of the table, he hits the red ball off the orange and sends it sailing towards her.

He rounds the table and stands in front of her, her body preventing him from continuing.

“You know you’re in the way, right?” he smirks down at her.

With doe eyes and a flirty smile, she stares up at him and tilts her head slightly to the left, “What if you’re in my way?”

“That’s not even possible. You’re just sitting there.”

“I’m studying the game,” she lies.

“Oh?” he plays along with an amused grin. “And what are you learning?”

He takes a step closer to her and her feet brush against his shins.

“That you’re not very good,” she laughs.

“And yet, I kicked your ass two, no three times.”

“The last one doesn’t count. We never finished.”

“Because you gave up,” he reminds her. He takes another step towards her and towers over her while he reaches around her and encompasses a ball with his palm. His cheek grazes hers as he lunges forward, launching the ball into the side pocket with a self-satisfied grin. Without realizing it, he’s standing with both of his feet planted between where her legs dangle off the edge of the table.

Pulling back, their chests graze and Joyce gulps. Rather than step away once the ball is no longer in his grasp, he leans down and uses his thumb to raise Joyce’s chin until their eyes lock.

“What?” she chuckles softly.

“I feel like I’m going to kiss you,” he admits.

He sees no sign of hesitancy in her eyes and closes the distance between them by planting his lips on hers with impressive force. She reacts by instinctively urging him forward with her heels, her hands settling in his hair.

His upper lip brushes against hers softly and unlike their previous kiss that was desperate and passionate and rushed, this one is slow and explorative. He takes his time with each movement, determined to memorize the curve of her smile and the way she tastes. Kissing her, it was like nothing else he’d ever experienced. Something lit up in him and made every nerve ending in his body rejoice. If he were to compare it to a physical action, the only thing that would come close would be the swell in the air in the brief moment between the crackle of thunder and the crash of lightning.

When they finally part for air, he rests his forehead against hers and traces the outline of her lower lip with his thumb. Before he allows it to slowly roll off the center of her lip, she catches him off guard by biting down on it and raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Hopper reacts instantly, lunging forward once again to kiss her. She tumbles back with him this time, leaning back on her elbows while plunging her tongue into his mouth. Hopper’s knee rests on the edge of the table and he uses it to balance himself as he hovers over her.

The moment is broken when someone breaks a glass in the bar and the shattering sound echoes through the kitchen. Embarrassed to have let himself get so carried away, Hopper climbs off Joyce and extends a hand to help her up while using the other to straighten out his shirt.

“We should… um… I should get you home,” he mumbles. He drags a hand through his hair and tries to calm himself down with a few deep breaths.

“Yeah, we should,” she agrees flustered.

They gather their things and Hopper leads Joyce out to the car, his hand guiding her from its place on her lower back.

The ride home from the Hideaway is comfortably silent. Joyce has her feet kicked up the dashboard, one arm hanging out the window flapping up and down with the cool evening air. Hopper’s gaze flicks from the road to Joyce and back again, forcing a blush to settle over her cheeks.

Neither of them says anything but words aren’t needed. Everything felt like it was falling into place and words were a form of communication the pair never needed. Joyce smiles at Hopper and continues to stare out the window at the passing town while she wonders where this metaphorical road will lead them.

There was no going back, that much she knew, but it felt like the relationship she and Hopper had was progressing naturally towards something bigger and she was bursting with anticipation just thinking about it.

When they arrive at Joyce’s house, Hopper offers to walk Joyce to the door. She politely declines his offer, knowing that she’ll be far too tempted to resume the wordless conversation that begins at the bar. Hopping out of the car, she tells him she had a nice time and waves before beginning her climb up the side of the house towards her window. He waits for ten minutes after she’s tucked away in the safe confines of her bedroom and then begins the journey back to his own house, all the while smiling like an absolute fool.

While he was glad that he and Joyce managed to fix their friendship, he couldn’t help but notice that it was evolving into something more. He knew he made the right decision when he told Chrissy that his friendship with Joyce was too important to walk away from, but tonight, he realized that it wasn’t his friendship with Joyce that he was choosing. It was the hope that they could explore what this inevitable spark between them meant.

Joyce hadn’t exactly told him that she wanted to pursue the possibility of them, but if the way she kissed him was any indication of how she was feeling, he was positive that they were on the same page.

He knows it might be too soon, but to hell with precedent. He wanted to show Joyce what she meant to him by taking her out on a real date.

He was tired of pretending he wasn’t ready to fall head over heels in love with his best friend.

Joyce hadn’t seen Hopper since their steamy kiss at the Hideaway, being as he had an early morning workout with the football team and she spent the morning working on an essay in the library. He bounds into science class with a massive smile on his face and gives her a two-fingered wave as he takes his seat.

The bell rings and the lesson begins promptly, leaving no time for the pair to have a conversation.

Midway through the lesson that Joyce is only semi paying attention to, she feels a folded-up piece of paper land on her arm.

Amused, she looks over at Hopper, who she finds is staring back at her with wide eyes and childlike amusement. Shaking her head at his antics, she stealthily unfolds the note beneath her notebook and reads it.

Go to the dance with me? -H

She doesn’t outwardly acknowledge what it says, instead choosing to slide it under her notebook and force her focus to be on the lesson. She can feel Hopper glaring at her from his seat across the aisle but she doesn’t dare look over at him.

Was he serious? Did he want to take her to the dance? He had to mean as friends, didn’t he? She’s a mess of what-ifs and is tingling excitement at the possibility that perhaps he meant what she wanted him to mean. Maybe he meant what he’d been telling her and his infatuation wasn’t just because he couldn’t have her. Joyce hates herself for being so hopeful, but he’d given her so many signs, how could she not hold out hope. Besides, just because she wanted him to be interested in her, didn’t mean that she trusted that this was something he actually wanted. It could have been a personal challenge to see if he could acquire what was unattainable.

When the dismissal bell rings, Joyce gathers her books, tucking the note between her middle and index finger and marches herself over to Hopper’s desk.

“Ha ha. Very funny,” she remarks, returning the note to him.

“I wasn’t joking,” he admits.

“Yeah right. Hop. Be serious.”

“I am. I’m being dead serious. Come to the dance with me?”

“I hate dances,” she reminds him. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather go with your friends or ask some girl you have your eye on now that you’re single?” She makes sure that her words don’t come out harshly so that he knows she doesn’t mean to be rude by reminding him of the recent change in his relationship status.

“I did just ask the girl I have my eye on,” he admits.

Her draw drops open slightly, “oh.”

“I know that the note was kind of lame but I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about this - you and I, I mean, and I really wanted to ask you.” He nervously runs his hand through his hair and chuckles. “As my date.”

Joyce is silent for a moment while she attempts to process what he’s just said. She wants to say yes, to believe that they can be something together, but… for whatever reason, she can’t bring herself to trust that this is real. That it isn’t too good to be true.

Years of people letting her down had taught her that nothing was ever as good as it seemed and despite her knowing Hopper, the entire situation with Chrissy makes her doubt even how well she knows her best friend. He’d become a different person when he was with the blonde, what if he thought he wanted this and then changed his mind? It would leave her with nothing.

“Joyce?” The sound of his voice interrupts her thought.

“You know I don’t dance,” she rolls her eyes. Lacing her arm through his elbow, she leads him to the door of the classroom. “What do you say we skip next period and have lunch under the bleachers?”

“I wish I could but I promised Benny we could toss the ball around at lunch. Later this week, alright?”

“Alright,” she smiles. She waves as he heads off towards the football field and lets out a long breath, grateful he hadn’t pushed the dance subject.

The next day after school, Joyce finds Hopper waiting at her locker.

“I thought you had practice after school today?” she questions him.

“I do. I wanted to see if you wanted to go to the lake later?”

“Hmm. I’ve got some homework to do. What time?”

“I was thinking I could pick you up around 8?”

“I’m not sure Hop. I shouldn’t.”

“Joyce. It’s a Friday. Live a little,” he smirks and pokes her.

“Fine. But pick me up at 9 o’clock instead.”

“As you wish. See you at nine!”

Wearing her sneakers and leather jacket, Joyce flings herself into the front seat of Hopper’s car and immediately reaches for the radio dial.

“Hey! I was listening to that,” he whines as he begins to back down the driveway.

“We both know you like this song better,” she beams. He shakes his head because as always, she was right.

He can tell by the way she’s fidgeting in her seat that she’s in a good mood and it makes him smile. He adored seeing her happy.

He drives down the old country road that leads to the lake and appreciates the way he and Joyce can sit in complete silence without things feeling tense. She was the only person on the planet that he was content to sit in silence with. With anyone else, he felt the need to strike up a conversation, but with her it was simple.

Admiring the way the moonlight illuminates the side of her face, his focus shifts from the road to the girl riding shotgun. With her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and her lips painted what was becoming a familiar shade of red, she was radiant. The way her lips curve up into a slender smile and crinkle the skin at the edges of her eyes reminds him of a time when they were kids and he would spend hours trying to make her laugh just to see her smile. Her smile was like a drug to him; he was addicted and couldn’t get enough.

Joyce is staring out the window when they pull up at a red light and Hopper takes the opportunity to admire her. She has her elbow propped on the window, chin resting in her open palm while she leans forward through the open window and looks at the corner store across the road.

An impulsive thought urges Hopper to lean across the center console and kiss her. He doesn’t. He wants to but knows it would be irrational and impulsive. Joyce was not the type of girl that deserved impulse, she deserved a whirlwind romance and well-thought-out action.

He swallows hard as he swallows his sudden need to kiss her and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

Joyce turns towards him and catches him staring, an action that forces them both to blush.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “Just looking.”

“At me?”

“At you,” he nods.

The light turns green and Hopper presses the gas pedal, moving the car through the intersection and in the direction of the lake.

When they arrive at the lake, they decide to stay seated in the car so they can listen to music and Hopper retrieves a bottle of Whiskey from the backseat and pops it open. He takes a large swig before cocking his head and offering the paper-bag-clad bottle to Joyce.

She kicks her heels up on the dashboard and crosses her ankles while mirroring his previous action and downing some of the alcohol. She sputters when it first touches her lips and Hopper laughs.

“Jesus Hop. That’s terrible!”

“That’s why you need to drink more, so it begins to taste better.”

“That is terrible logic,” she giggles.

“But you have to admit it makes sense.”

“Maaaybe,” she replies. She takes another sip and passes the crinkled bag containing the bottle back to him.

“So,” he begins nervously. “Have you given any more thought to what I asked you?”

“I agreed to come to the lake tonight, I thought that was the answer?”

“The other question. The dance,” he reminds her.

“Oh,” she replies, “I told you. I don’t do dances.”

“Not even with me?”

A beat passes without either of them saying anything. “I’ll have to think about it,” she finally responds.

While she wanted to agree to go out with him, a huge part of her was holding onto the fear that Hopper’s invitation was lust-driven. It was childish, but for selfish reasons, she needed him to prove that he really wanted this. Her. She needed reassurance.

“That’s not a no. I’ll take it,” he smiles.

They fall back against their seats and once again give in to the comfortable silence, wordlessly passing the bottle back and forth while staring out at the still waters of Lover’s Lake.

“Joyce,” he says, staring straight ahead.

“Mhmm?”

“I haven’t had the chance to tell you how much I like the whole red-lip thing.”

“Thanks, I like how you’ve been styling your hair lately,” she tells him.

Feeling impulsive in her own way, Joyce reaches across the car and rests her palm on his right knee.

Hopper stills beneath her touch and his pulse begins to race. He forces himself to relax and he asks her how her afternoon of homework went. She begins to explain the concept of the essay she’s working on and excitedly waves her arms around when she describes her stance on the topic.

He smiles and nods, doing his best to ask appropriate questions and listen to what she’s saying.

“Gosh I’m so sorry I’m rambling. You don’t care about my stupid essay,” she says.

“Joyce, I care about everything you have to say,” he tells her.

Smiling, she shifts herself close to the center console separating their seats and allows for her hand to shift up his thigh. Her thumb gently swipes across his upper thigh and she gives his leg a slight squeeze.

He looks down at her hand and gulps. Covering it with his own hand, he stills her thumb and they lock eyes.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns her in a hushed tone.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” she flirts. She maintains eye contact with him while she speaks.

Hopper reaches across the car and runs his calloused hand along Joyce’s jaw line and up to cup her cheek, pausing to drag his thumb over her lower lip. Time moves slowly while his thumb rolls off her lip and drops down into the charged space between them. She gazes up at him through hooded want-filled eyes.

He leans closer, breathing laboured and closes his eyes. Lips hovering mere inches from hers, he breathes her in and prepares to close the gap between them. In the distance, a car horn blares and causes both Joyce and Hopper to jump and pull apart.

Joyce fiddles with the ends of her hair, twisting it through her fingers while she waits for Hopper to say something.

“Ugh,” he stutters, “maybe we should…”

“Head home?” she finishes for him.

“Yeah. Since we’re going to have to walk, I’m afraid I’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“A walk sounds nice to me,” she grins.

They begin the walk back to Joyce’s in the dark, travelling along the edge of the gravel path that’s faintly illuminated by the yellow-tinted street lights.

Joyce swings her arms at her sides, the warmth of the alcohol and the adrenaline of what almost happened in the car making her giddy with excitement and confidence.

She takes another sip from the bottle and passes it back to Hopper, trailing one heel behind the other as she playfully walks the line between the grass and the road.

“What’s better, time travel or flying?” he asks.

“Time travel.”

“Agreed.”

“Space or the ocean?” she asks in return.

“Space. The ocean terrifies me.”

“I know,” she responds. “Me too. It’s too big.”

“Space isn’t too big?”

“It’s a different kind of big. It’s mysterious in a good way. The ocean just reminds me of something that contains too many secrets.”

“And it has squids,” Hopper adds. “I hate those things.”

Joyce’s laughter rings in his ears and she takes a few staggering steps towards him and reaches for their shared drink.

“Squids? That’s the scariest part of the ocean?”

“You can’t make fun of me, you’re afraid of spiders!”

“They have so many legs!”

“So do squids!”

“Let’s just agree to stay away from anything with eight legs?”

“Deal.”

“How was your week?” Hopper asks her.

“Not too bad. My mom joined us for dinner last night.”

“That’s good. Right?”

“It was strange. She’s never home for dinner.”

“Maybe she’s trying?”

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up,” she admits.

“What about you? Is your dad still bothering you about a football scholarship?”

“Only every day. I doubt I’ll get one.”

“You don’t think you’re good enough?”

“I know I’m not. I love the game, but I don’t think it’s how I want to spend my life.”

“And how exactly do you plan on spending it?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. I figure I’ll just wait and see how things go next year. Wait until all the pieces fall into place.”

“I like how that sounds. I think I’ll do the same.”

“Well then, here’s to letting the cookie crumble,” he toasts, raising the bottle to his lips and then passing it to Joyce.

Without warning, a crackle of lightning flashes across the sky and thunder booms.

Quickly, Hopper takes Joyce’s hand and tries to run for shelter but she pulls her hand away and stays rooted in her spot in the center of the street.

With arms outstretched she stares up at the sky and lets the rain drops drench her face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he calls out to her from a few feet away.

“Living.”

“You’re crazy,” he calls back, laughing as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Maybe,” she smirks. She raises her arms and twirls around, allowing the puddles forming at her ankles to splash up onto the edge of her jeans. “Maybe I’m out of my mind,” she giggles.

“Well?” she smiles over at him. Her hair is now completely soaked and stuck to her face, while the raindrops roll off the sleeves of her leather jacket. “Are you coming?”

He stares at her, completely wonderstruck and shakes his head. Stepping towards her, he reaches for the paper bag containing the bottle and takes a large swig.

“This is insane,” he tells her.

“Aren’t all the best ideas?” she replies.

“They are,” he nods, extending a hand to her.

He places the bottle down on the road when she curiously places her palm in his and lunges forward to scoop her up and hoist her over his shoulder.

She squeals when he lifts her and laughs as he struggles to adjust and balance her on his shoulder.

“Put me down,” she laughs.

“Nah,” he smirks. He twirls them around, splashing through a massive puddle.

“Jim Hopper put me down this instant,” she demands. The rain had soaked its way through his shirt and the cotton fabric was now clinging to his muscular shoulders beneath her. She pretends not to notice but her palm falls on his opposite shoulder as she tries to wriggle free and it’s nearly impossible to pretend she’s oblivious to his physique.

“As you wish,” he replies, helping her down and directly into a puddle.

He keeps his hold on her once her feet are planted in the puddle and pulls her body into his. The rain makes the space between them misty and flattens Hopper's hair onto his forehead.

It’s raining even harder now, making it nearly impossible to hear without screaming despite their close proximity.

“Ready?” Hopper yells down at Joyce.

“For what?” she calls back.

He raises their intertwined fingers above her head and twirls her beneath their connected arms before tugging her back towards them and dramatically dipping her and clutching at her waist.

Her laugh, deep and real as she dips back and her long dark hair nearly dips into a puddle, sends shock waves through him that make him want to dance in the rain with her until the day he dies. It was raw and magnetic, her laugh. He wants to make her laugh like this all the time.

He twirls her outwards once again, revealing in the way her laughter gets louder with each twirl. On the final spin, he attempts to bring her back towards him but the rain causes his hand to slip and he loses his grip on her. She spins back into his chest with impressive force for someone who was hardly 5’4 and places both hands on his chest which is hardly covered by his wet shirt.

With wide eyes and a massive smile, she looks up at him and blinks through the rain. The energy between them shifts from light-hearted and fun to electrified and unknowing in a matter of seconds and it sends an excited chill down Joyce’s arms.

Instinctually, he leans down and cups her cheek in his hand. He presses his lips against hers, using his palms to anchor her against his body while she rocks forwards on her toes to meet him halfway.

They stand there, embracing, in the center of the street illuminated only by the misty dull light shining down from the lamp post up ahead. The rain continues to come down hard, but it makes no difference to either of them.

Standing on her toes, Joyce leans into Hopper, whose hands hold her petite waist while their lips softly graze against one another’s.

She was right, she thinks to herself as she kisses him. All the best ideas were insane. This, standing in the middle of the road kissing her best friend in the rain, was insane.

But it was everything.

This moment would be etched in her mind until the end of time, she was certain of it. Dancing in the rain beneath the streetlights, it was the type of thing you saw in movies, not something that happened in real life. And yet, it was happening. She was living in a moment that was too good to be true.

He made her feel like she had everything.

With each gentle brush of his lips against hers, her stomach flutters and she grows more convinced that maybe they did want the same things.

Pulling back, she blushes and looks away. She needed to be sure of his intentions and that was something that shouldn’t be decided on during a heat-of-the-moment kiss. If she wanted to, she could let herself fall for him. It would be terribly easy to fall for a man like Jim Hopper. But she would fall hard and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to pick herself up if he decided not to stick around to catch her.

She loved him. Unmistakably. Undoubtedly. But she needed to be sure that this, that she was it for him before she truly let herself fall.

“We should get you home before you catch a cold,” he says.

“Alright.”

“Wouldn't want to give you any more excuses to not go to the dance with me. Seeing as we just proved that you can dance.”

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we.”

“Does that mean you’ll go with me?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” she laughs. “But nice try.”

“I’m going to keep trying.”

“I hope you do,” she tells him. It was the truth, she hoped he pursued their love story.

“Alright, grab that bottle and let’s go,” he smiles. Joyce walks back a few yards and retrieves their paper bag bottle. When she returns to Hopper, he takes her left hand in his and they begin the walk back to her house in the pouring rain, swinging their intertwined fingers between their bodies.

“You’re late,” she smirks when she spots him ducking beneath the bleachers. “Mr. Cooper was just over here lecturing me.”

Sitting with her back pressed against the concrete, she dangles a cigarette between her teeth and slides over to make room for him. He takes a seat next to her and plucks the cigarette from between her teeth, taking a long drag.

“I was in class. Like you should have been.”

“I thought we agreed to skip fifth and sixth.”

“We did. But I had to run back to my car and grab something.”

“Oh?”

“This,” he says passing her a book, “is for you.”

She accepts the novel and turns it over in her hand. It was an old copy of one of her favourites, but he knew she already owned multiple copies of it and the gesture confuses her.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he instructs.

Turning back the cover page, she notices he's placed two tickets for the dance inside the book.

“Hop,” she semi-groans and semi-smiles.

“Let me take you to the dance.”

“You’re relentless.”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe,” she flirts. “But try again.”

She pushes the tickets into his chest and steals her cigarette back.

“You’re cruel.”

“Just trying to stay true to myself,” she reminds him.

“I love that about you, you’re you.”

“I try to be.”

The bell rings indicating the start of the next period and Joyce pushes herself to her knees.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a class to get to. It’s not my fault you took so long to get here.”

“Skip it.”

“It’s English. I like English.”

“Lame.”

“I’ll see you later. Thank you for the book,” she tells him. Leaning forward on her knees, she presses both palms to his chest and leans down to capture his lips in a surprise searing kiss.

When she pulls back and stands up, she notices he’s still rooted in his places, staring off into space completely dumbfounded.

“Bye Hop,” she winks.

He slips the tickets into his front pocket and stays sitting beneath the bleachers chain-smoking until school lets out for the day.

The following afternoon, Joyce brings her homework into the backyard and props herself up on her usual branch to read.

She notices a pack of cigarettes next to her usual spot and picks them up to examine them. Turning them over in her palm she realizes that they must belong to Hopper. He was always smoking these god-awful unfiltered ones.

She wasn’t the biggest fan of them, often choosing to nag Hopper about his choice of smokes, but decides to light one while she reads and take advantage of the fact that he must have left them behind the last time he was up here.

When she opens the package to retrieve one, a note falls out along with a ticket to the dance. Shaking her head with a chuckle, she picks up the note and unfolds it.

He was persistent, she had to hand it to him.

Leaning back against the bark of the tree trunk, she lights a new cigarette and places it between her teeth before she picks up the note and begins reading.

Joyce,

There are a million reasons I think you should come to the dance with me, one of them is because I am absolutely crazy about you, but I’ll leave you with just this one reason.

I know you’re afraid that if this doesn’t work out our friendship will be ruined, but I promise you, we’re worth the risk. It’s like in that cheesy movie you made me watch a few months ago, where the main guy is trying to tell the girl that they should be together. You know at the end when the guy tells the girl that from that start, he just knew. I’m that guy, Joyce. I look at you and I just know. We’re meant to be together. You and me, we could be something.

So, this is me officially asking you to the dance. Not as my friend, but as my date. Because I want to date you.

Take the ticket and meet me outside the dance at 8:30 if you agree this is worth trying. I really hope to see you there.

Hopper

Dropping the note to her lap, she pinches the bridge of her nose and reminds herself to breathe. In. Out. She’d never know Hopper to be a romantic, but this note and the words he’d crafted could only be described as such.

We’re worth the risk.

She hears the words over and over again in her mind, the tone of his voice that she’d conjured up in her head soothing.

We could be something.

Breathe in. Breathe out. They could be. She knows it. If she let herself love him the way she knew she was capable of, she knew that nothing else in her life, no other connection, would ever compare.

Because I want to date you.

She gulps, fiddles with her thumbs and smiles. She wanted that too. As terrified as she was of taking this risk, Hopper’s ability to put himself out there, time and time again just to prove to her that he meant each word he said, gave her faith that she could push past her own fear. If he was willing to go through all of this just to show her how much she meant to him, shouldn’t she be willing to give him, them, a chance?

She wants to. My god, she wants to.

Give him a chance.

Give them a chance.

She wants more than anything to have the same amount of faith in herself that Hopper had in her.

If he was willing to go through so much effort to show her that he was serious about them giving a romantic relationship a chance, she should be willing to overlook the personal demons that plagued her and do the same.

Reading over the note again, she smiles to herself. This was really happening. They were going to give this a shot.

Nervously, Hopper paces the length of the entrance. His dress shoes slap the battered pavement as he marches back and forth, hands pinned behind his back.

He felt absolutely ridiculous in his powder-blue monkey suit with his hair groomed back. In one hand, he holds a cigarette. The other holds a box containing a corsage.

This was stupid. She wasn’t going to show up and he would be left standing out in the parking lot holding a box with a small flower, dateless.

Classmates arrive and enter the gym door behind him, some wave and tell him he looks nice but he doesn’t hear them. He’s too preoccupied wondering if she found the ticket he left for her. If she didn’t find it, would she show up?

School dances had never been Joyce’s scene but this was different. He knew she was tempted to agree to go with him when he asked her the first time and again when he asked at the lake. He can’t blame her for being afraid. She didn’t have many constants in her life.

He intended on remaining one of those constants.

Something in him told him to have faith that she would come but with each passing minute his faith waivers. He wasn’t good enough for her. That much he knew. He was holding out hope that she was willing to give him a chance to try and be a man worthy of dating her.

He knew they were on the same page with their feelings. Though she hadn’t outright told him, he knew. It was written in her smile when he made her laugh, broadcast when she wrinkled her nose ever-so-slightly after kissing him and on full display whenever they accidentally touched.

Joyce had been jealous of Chrissy for all the reasons Benny once mentioned and had every right to be. He was an idiot for failing to realize what they had. Now, he just had to hope that he hadn’t realized too late.

He leans back against the wall next to the door, kicking his heel up to steady himself as he takes a long drag and exhales towards the sky. Pinching his eyes shut, he lets the sensation overcome him.

“I hope you have a flask,” her voice rings through the parking lot. Hopper opens his eyes and finds Joyce standing a few feet in front of him. “Because I can’t do this shit sober.”

She’s wearing a deep blue dress. It’s simple. Semi-puffy sleeves and a skirt that falls just below her knees, paired with her converse, of course. Joyce has her hair pinned back behind her ears where it falls over her shoulders. With red painted lips, she grins up at him and beams.

“You look surprised,” she smirks.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he admits.

“I considered staying home but someone left this,” she holds up the ticket,” for me and I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Right,” he chuckles. Nervously, he steps towards her and reveals the box containing the corsage.

“I thought you didn’t know if I’d come?”

“I didn’t. I was being hopeful,” he tells her. “This is for you.”

He opens the box and reaches for the small pale pink flower. Joyce extends her hand and lets Hopper slip the elastic band over her wrist.

“I wasn’t sure what colour your dress was but the women at the store said that this one was perfect for someone special.”

“It’s beautiful,” she smiles. In awe, she stares down and admires it. No one had ever given her something so pretty.

“Should we go in?” he asks.

“After you,” she beams, linking her arm through his elbow.

Arm-in-arm, Joyce and Hopper enter the school gymnasium which is covered in streamers and balloons. Though less extravagant than the prom set up, it looked nothing like the everyday gym and Joyce tenses at Hopper’s side.

“Hey,” he smiles down at her reassuringly, “this is going to be fun.”

The pair set off to the punch table where Hopper pours them each a glass of the clearly-spiked punch. They claim seats on the bleachers located on the far side of the gym and watch their classmates dance as they enjoy the bitter taste of vodka and powdered juice.

“So,” Hopper nervously claps his hands.

“So,” Joyce echos.

“Is this awkward?”

“The dance? Or?”

“Us… being here together,” he explains.

“A little bit,” she admits.

“It doesn’t have to be weird. We can just act like we normally do.”

“How do we normally act?’

“Like us,” he beams. “Hopper and Joyce.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs, “those are our names.”

“You know what I mean. Come on,” he says, getting up and extending a hand to her.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here. This is extremely lame.”

“Oh thank god. This is painful,” Joyce snickers. She places her palm in his and the two of them exit the gym and march back into the parking lot, hand in hand.

She notices a few of their classmates turn and stare while she and Hopper weave their way through the crowd towards the exit, no doubt whispering about their intertwined fingers but she doesn’t care. Let them talk, she thinks to herself. In fact, she would give them something to talk about. With a self-satisfied smile, she reaches over with her free hand and places it on Hopper's bicep with a squeeze. He leans into her in response and quickens the pace to the door.

“Where to?” she asks once they’re outside.

“Let’s start with a few of these,” he says, holding up a pack of cigarettes. He leads them through the parking lot to his car and leans against the hood while passing her an unlit cigarette.

“People are going to talk, you know,” she tells him.

“About what?”

“This,” she gestures between them. “Us. Being here together.”

“Screw em. Let them talk all they want.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“If it means I get to do this,” he smirks and reaches for her waist. In one swift motion, he tugs her towards him, effectively trapping him between her knees and the car. “Then they can say whatever they want.”

She shudders with anticipation and drops her cigarette when the last words roll off his tongue in a low, sultry tone.

“You were right,” she whispers. “It doesn’t have to be weird. It’s just the two of us.”

“Exactly. Only now, I get to kiss you too.”

“I don’t think we ever had a rule that said you couldn’t kiss me before,” she teases.

“Joyce,” he hums, drawing her in closer.

“Mhmm?”

“Just shut up and let me kiss you.”

He leans down, hands planted on her hips, and brushes his lips against hers. Rocking forward on her toes, Joyce lets her body crash into his, anchoring one hand on his shoulder, the other on the car next to where he’s semi-seated. When Hopper reluctantly has to pull back and catch his breath, he rests his nose against hers and closes his eyes, desperately trying to remember everything about the moment.

Joyce initiates the next kiss and quickly their kisses grow sloppy and desperate. The gym door creaks open and a stream of students pour out into the parking lot, forcing the young couple to pull apart. Joyce props herself up against the hood of the car next to Hopper and asks him for a new cigarette, which he lights and hands to her. They joke about some of their clearly intoxicated classmates who have stumbled out of the gymnasium and Hopper places his arm around Joyce’s shoulders. When he’s certain the rowdy bunch hanging out near the door have returned to the dance, he leans over and steals another kiss.

“What was the for?” she laughs.

“Because I can.”

“There you are!” Benny’s voice rings through the air. Hopper pulls his gaze away from Joyce and finds Benny staring at the two of them with a smirk.

“Oh, hey Joyce.”

“Hi,” she waves.

“I wasn’t interrupting, was I?”

“What do you want, Benny?” Hopper asks.

“Just wanted to see if you two wanted to join us for something to eat,” he informs them. His stare drifts down to where Hopper’s thumb is caressing Joyce’s shoulder and he adds, “unless you had other plans.”

“I promised I would get Joyce home before curfew,” Hopper lies.

“Right,” Benny smirks, “Next time then. You look nice Joyce.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“You make sure to take care of my boy here,” he tells her.

“She always does,” Hopper says on her behalf.

“I’m sure she does,” Benny mutters beneath his breath. The comment earns him a glare from Hopper but Joyce doesn’t appear to have heard him.

“Anyways, I’ll let you two enjoy your night,” he waves. About damn time, he thinks to himself while he walks away.

“Hop, no one’s home. I don’t have a curfew?” Joyce looks at him confused.

“I know, but I don’t want to have to share you with anyone tonight. Now, you owe me a dance before we get out of here.”

“I never said anything about a dance.”

“One dance?”

“Fine.”

“Let’s go.”

Back inside the gym, Hopper leads Joyce to the dance floor and places both hands on her hips. Following his lead, she clasps her hands behind his neck and lets him move them to the music. She’s vaguely aware of her classmates staring and buries her face in his neck to avoid their stares.

Their dance is far more intimate than anything Joyce has ever experienced and the feeling frightens her. As soon as the song ends, she panics and asks Hopper if he can drive her home. He nods and doesn’t press her for the reason.

He can tell her mind is racing on the drive home. She’s suddenly distant, staring out the window and fiddling with her thumbs. He reaches for her hand and gives her palm a gentle squeeze, his silent way of telling her that whatever it was that was bothering her wasn’t worth it.

When they arrive at her house, he cuts the engine and leans over to kiss her. Instinctually, she withdrawals and he pulls back looking hurt.

“Joyce? What’s wrong? What happened?”

She’s quiet for a moment before she softly speaks.

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asks.

“Why do you want this, me, so badly?” She’s voicing her insecurities and a huge part of him is grateful she feels comfortable enough to do so.

“Because I know you don’t want to believe this but you’re everything to me.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” He nods.

“Yes,” she says after a moment.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll be your date to the dance.”

“Are you feeling alright Joy? We just came from the dance.”

“In your note, you said that you wanted me to agree to go to the dance with you because you wanted to date me,” she explains. “Doesn’t that mean if I agree to go with you I’m agreeing to dating you?”

“But you already went to the dance with me,” he laughs.

“Well then now I’m agreeing to the second part.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hop?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking before I change my mind.”

Darling, you're the one I want, and

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

#stranger things #Jopper #Multichapter #au

8 notes · View notes

fandomsilhouette · 4 years

Text

fan the flames and face the fire (all these sparks make me a liar)

Some glass is crystal clear, with all the world behind it to behold. This glass sends color ricocheting off the walls, brings light where there was none and makes the world look brighter, more valuable than it was before. It makes the world look worth exploring, worth loving. Worth being vulnerable for.

They’re both glass. Just glass, right?

Felix was used to the feeling of eyes on his skin like judgement, like insects or shame crawling up his spine. It was easy to ignore; years of practice made shedding stares like shedding a coat after stepping indoors.

Hanging out with Marinette made his nerves tingle, every curious glance like a spark waiting to set him alight. He itched, squirmed under the attention, didn’t know how she could bear it so poignantly. It took him two months to ask. By the time she responded, head tilted cutely, bangs falling into her eyes, he wished he’d never even thought of the question.

“What stares?”

She didn’t even notice! Marinette had spent her whole life existing in a circle everyone wished they could be a part of, for good or for evil, curious and conniving and hopeful and horrible and everything in between, and she had no idea. Being in the middle of a hurricane that he had spent five years caught in the winds of was surreal. It was like floating on the same clouds that had left him drenched and drowned for so long.

Marinette handed out pieces of herself so casually, as if this information wasn’t unbelievably precious, as if they were scraps of paper like notes dropped onto his desk instead of gifts of gold he hoarded like a dragon, as if Felix didn’t desperately want to make up for the last five years of distance. I like to sew, she mentioned, I want to be a fashion designer. Do you want to see my sketches? Baking is stress relief for me, she explained when her parents dropped off the mini cinnamon buns she’d made in the shape of little cats. I don’t like to bring them to school myself though because I’m either confident or clumsy, and I haven’t figured out how to choose yet. She brought him notes when he was sick, because catching up when Chloe got me wrongfully suspended was so hard, and even when it was overturned the teachers didn’t offer much time for recovery. She was astonishingly good at science and never learned how to subtract; she liked to quilt and cross stitch but she knew how to bind her own books too, because reading on the screen gave her a headache.

Felix learned all of these things like they didn’t matter, like the way that she hummed off key under her breath and the way that she swung her arms in time to his footsteps when they walked together wasn’t important, wasn’t as essential to Felix’s life as his own breath, his own heart.

Felix grew up without friends. By choice, by necessity, by whatever he chose to label it: but now he was here, and he wanted everything. This being friends thing was so… was so intense, with the way his heart pounded in his chest and his words disappeared with one glance of her playful blue eyes. Felix had never felt so flustered in his life, like he was always a step behind her, like every time he managed to catch up she disarmed and sent him reeling long enough to race forward again.

Felix had spent so long learning how to be a good boy, a mature boy. A young adult confident in his skin. Being around Marinette meant learning how to be messy, wild and spiraling out of his body, taking up space and throwing words against a wall to see what sticks.

Marinette made him feel like it was okay to do that.

Marinette made him feel like he was good when he did.

It’ll be the first year they’ll take the bus to camp together, really together, the way they should’ve at age seven. Felix is bouncing in his seat, clenching his fists over air when he can’t find anything to grab, to hold onto or tear at. He’s clutching at the windowsill waiting for her signature ponytail to bounce into sight.

She does, and his pulse races. Her tank top stretches over her shoulders, rides up against her stomach, and Felix nearly topples out of his seat. She’s here!!

Immediately, two campers rush to grab her wrists, already pulling at her. Felix remembers them from last year, so scared to be away from home for the first time, and it looks like they remember her well. Another child is crying quietly, and Marinette makes her way over, kneels until she’s at their level.

“Hey there, little bird!” She tugs at their t-shirt, hanging loosely off of their shoulder. A cartoon bird is ironed onto the pocket, and Marinette pokes at it gently. The child hiccups a laugh through tears, and Marinette scoops them up into the air. “Gonna fly away from me, little bird?” They laugh and kick until Marinette pulls them into her chest, where they bury their face into her neck.

“No!! I’m gonna stay here with you!!!” Suddenly shy, they peek up at her. “If… if that’s okay?”

“Well gosh! I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” When Marinette winks, Felix sees their shoulders relax, draining of tension. They snuggle into her, and he knows she’ll be spending the bus ride in the back with the youngest campers. Something like disappointment and pride curls up in his stomach, a cat making its home by the hearth.

Marinette waves at him as she passes and another camper, nine years old and too hyper for their own good, throws themselves at Felix. He catches them, and grins at Marinette. His smile is crooked and the child is already yanking Felix’s shirt out of place.

She takes a picture, and Felix grins harder.

Being at camp as the eldest campers is a wildly new experience. Nino has taken over the guitar laying haphazardly by the fire pit, and there are always camp songs drifting across the fields now. His wrist is decorated with friendship bracelets from all the kids he sings with. Felix and Marinette have matching ones and Nino likes to tease Felix about them being the only pop of color on his otherwise grey palette. Being friends with Nino is new and thrilling too, inside jokes and playful ribbing that makes Felix grin. Marinette has admitted she likes watching the two of them interact, and Felix makes an effort to do it more often just for that. He spends time with Nino even when she’s not there, though, and it’s nice to have another friend, no matter how much it doesn’t feel the same as being friends with Marinette.

Camp looks the same and different now. There are so many people they already know, who are still finding all the best spots in the forest to hide in, the best trees to climb to see all the way out to the waterfalls just ahead of camp, the best foods from the great hall and the best ways to roast marshmallows over a campfire to get that perfect char, that melted inside.

Every now and then, Marinette smirks at a particularly perfect marshmallow and then glances at Felix. He refuses to ask until almost six weeks later, she adds a little shimmy of her shoulders and an eyebrow wiggle, and then he folds like a bad hand at poker.

“Okay, fine, what is it?!”

“...they’re like youuu!” She does it again, and this time her shimmy leans her into his space. Felix holds himself still and hopes the light of the fire covers his blush.

“How?!”

“Grumpy on the outside and melted in the middle!!” Her voice is sing-songing and Felix refuses to acknowledge exactly how melty being around her makes him feel.

“...you’re just as melty, okay.” His voice is gruff and he’s worried as soon as he says it that she doesn’t want his friendship in that same consuming kind of way, that she’ll laugh and prove him wrong. Instead, she stays quiet for a long moment that sends Felix into a whole new kind of panic and then responds, almost too quiet to be heard over the crackling of the fire.

“...I really am.”

Felix is suddenly overwhelmed with the way that she says it, like there are so many levels to what she’s saying that he can’t possibly burrow through them all.

“I-- Marinette, I’m so lu-- lucky to be your friend. I know that I could’ve had yo-- uh, could’ve been your friend years ago, and it’s my fau-- my fault, but I have you now and I’m… lucky, thank you.”

“...I’ve never heard you stutter like that.”

Shame flushes through his body.

“I’m sorry. I’m so-- I’m sorry, Marinette, I’ll stop.”

“I kind of like it.” She isn’t looking at him. Her voice cuts through to his heart anyways. It pulls at him, yanks his response out of him before he has a chance to grab it back, pull it into himself and tear it apart.

“Why?!”

“I like it when you fall apart like that. I feel like… I feel like I get to know you more than the polished perfect boy you used to pretend to be, like I get to see the way you think as it happens. It makes me feel trusted, and I just… I really value that, Felix. I know how special it is.” She watches the campfire spit flames at her marshmallow and turns it idly, following the glittering trail of sparks across the skyline, then peeks at him between her bangs.

“I know how special you are. I’m pretty lucky, too.”

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najatheangel · 3 years

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Written Ship 🐶

Hey luv! I was wondering if I could do a written ship request for enhypen , txt, and nct dream ?

I’m a 5’5 skinny south Asian girl with layered long wavy dark hair (as in it goes down to my waist but I swear it’s healthy thanks to coconut oil )and dark eyes . I absolutely adore the color yellow oml it’s just one of those colors that makes me happy but at the same time I’m like indecisive cuz every color has its own vibes but i wine with yellow a lot . And for seasons idk I feel every season have something new it brings to the table so I can’t choose.. but I kinda like the colder seasons cuz I can wear my cozy sweaters lol. I’ve been doing classical dance for about 10 years and recently started doing urban for the past 3. I’m also learning contemporary cuz why not lol. I’m also such a art geek like I love to paint, draw, and even write from time to time. As for sports I do tennis oh and mbti type is ENFP . Sun sign Scorpio, moon in Aquarius, and rising Leo. [...]

I hope you’re having a good day and thank you for ur time ! 💞

@golden-fields-with-berries Hello darling thanks sooo much for requesting it was lovely getting to know you. Sorry you had to wait so long school is really has really been a pain in the ass lately and I had to get extra study time. Anyways enough of that here ya go boo…✨⭐️

From Enhypen, I ship you with…Jungwon

Positive Side: Your relationship will last a longtime. First of all, your both very talented in the area of dancing and have enough experience to the point where it can take you to big places in your careers. Your both very straight forward, focused and would use good strategies to accomplish goals together as partners. Communication between ESTJ and ENFP personality types tend to focus a lot on the big picture when it comes to real life experiences, each other’s history and facts on certain topics rather than theories. It’s a good thing, because your constantly keeping it real with each other and being realistic which can help for the both of you when it comes to making big decisions. As far as your interactions together, you both feed of each other’s energy. You both resemble golden retriever’s in a sense getting excited over going on dates, hanging out with each others friends and seeing each other enjoying a hobby together. He enjoys seeing you playing tennis with him even though he knows he you win every game and seeing you get excited about showing your artwork your artwork to him which made him super soft for you. Jungwon is the more younger and charming one in the relationship so he doesn’t fail to sweep you off your feet and will continue to prove himself to you how worthy of a boyfriend and support system he can be for you.

Negative Side: With him being the Aquarius and you being the Scorpio, it was hard at first to become a couple, because you both have similarities yet some differences which can be hard to accept. The differences I’m referring to can relate to your expectations and values when it comes building relationships. For example, Jungwon would want someone that thinks more with their mind mean while you would want someone that thinks more out of their heart. These small differences can cause some intense debates and question your both able to survive this relationship. It almost even cause you guys to break up because of this big divide between you two that’s hard to adjust.

But…: Because your both so different from each other, doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. At the end of the day, you both have love for each other and would help each other change for the better. It makes it a lot easier to agree to disagree and learn to respect each other views in life a little bit more. You might not be the most compatible in other people’s eyes, but you both know the what’s best for each other and would rather stick around with each other.

From Txt, I ship you with…Soobin

Positive Side: Very interesting loveable duo. Your both people that have a love and obsession with knowledge and learning new things whether it has to do with science, biology, psychology, etc…In the area you both click the most in is art and music. Of course you have more knowledge in the art department, but of course Soobin is all ears and will hear you talk for hours about the latest artwork from your favorite artists. He also love when you give him your most honest feedback on his songs because it helps him give suggestions to his other members and produce more better music to their fans. The relationship between Scorpio’s and Sagittarius tend to have a more stable connection and meet each other’s needs in a relationship. Soobin would give his input on certain situations your having trouble with whether it involves you messing up in school or getting into an argument with a friend. He tries the break down what you did wrong in the situation and how you can fix it without hurting their your feelings. Whenever he comes across an issue dealing with a scandal in his career or have any doubts within himself, you turn a negative into a positive and remind him why he’s in the music industry in first place. This bond overall is for the most part something you cherish for the rest of your young lifes.

Negative Side: Scorpios tend to have a hard time trusting people they’re closest to. Soobin is the one that’s more adventurous when it comes to traveling with you and coming up with more creative ways by expressing his love for you. The fact that his love for you is so strong, he’s constantly afraid that once he makes one mistake, there is no running back to you. Not saying that your extra strict on Soobin, but because trust is so important to you if Soobin ever lies, hides or betrays you on something huge then it’s hard to rebuild that bond you both worked so hard on building. Your biggest fear is almost similar where your afraid that because your so different from him, that it would be hard for Soobin to adjust.

But: Your both very honest and straight to the point that you both don’t have to worry about breaking that level of trust with each other. After staying together with him longer than a year all your worries start to wash away and you both finally can live stress free as a couple. Sometimes you still have your disagreements and blow outs, but it always ends on a high note. Soobin is the light that helps guide you to the right direction and your the

From Nct Dream, I ship you with…Renjun

Positive Side: Renjun is probably the best match out of everyone on this list. To start it off Scorpios get along very well with Aries because they have a very strong sexual chemistry. Depending on how they feel at that moment in time, the relationship starts off as lust and then love. In the case of Renjun being on the more innocent side and little experience with dating, it’s no secret that he wouldn’t deny his feelings for you out of love. From your point of you you enjoy having him around, admire his intelligence and his ability to stay committed to you while living his dream. Just like Soobin, you both love having deep conversations about each others hobbies, conspiracy theories and personal insecurities that your both struggling with. You are also very protective of each other and don’t ever take shit from anybody. If anyone tries to flirt with you or disrespect, Renjun would shut that down immediately scolding that person. You both think off of emotion and crave that when it comes to becoming affectionate with each other. Your both not the best with words, but better with actions. He’s multitalented in the art and music department as well so any art project or dance cover you wanted to work on together, Renjun won’t hesitate to join in with you. Both of your biggest deal breaker is tolerating liars and people that sneak around. Lastly, your level of trust is the most balanced out of everyone on the list, because you both can be clingy and jealous sometimes, but not to the point where it’s hurting your relationship.

Negative Side: When it comes to communication Renjun can be a fire cracker. Sometimes he can be very impatient and wants answers right away when it comes to having those deep conversations with you sometimes. Just like I mentioned earlier, you can be talking about how happy you are in your relationship with him and Renjun would either have a hard time expressing his emotions back by playfully brushing it off or pretend like he didn’t hear what you were saying which would hurt you. You wish sometimes Renjun would be better at expressing his love back at you with words as simple as “I love you too.” You both also try to be strong infront of each other and can’t sense what the other person is feeling half of the time.

But: Renjun is someone that can keep you on your feet and would always show signs of his love for you. Somedays he can be clingy and constantly texting because he’s missed you all day. When he shows small yet meaningful gestures it makes you 10x happier. Your friendship and faith in each other what helps your relationship last much longer with him. Remember if you didn’t experience bad days with him, you wouldn’t have good ones. :)

Out of everyone I ship you the most with…Renjun💎

#submission #kpop ships #enhypen ships #nct dream ships #txt ships #txt #soobin #enhypen #jungwon #nct dream #Renjun

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edmund-valks · 3 years

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Ilandreline - Just One Cookie

(( Part I: The Call ))

(( Part II: A Compound Beginning ))

If you listened closely enough, you could hear the emptiness breathing.

It was fascinating to consider, or would have been if it weren't also slightly terrifying. There was no reason for this space to sound like the lungs of some unutterable beast, yet it did. Everything she knew about the Shadowed Path said it was empty, that nothing dwelt here and nothing could. Perhaps nothing did. What if the very substance of the Path was alive in some fashion? The implications were-

Not important right now. That was her mother's voice, reminding her that there would only be time for later speculation if she lived to do it. Smart folk did not dally on these roads, even those who knew how to walk them. They were treacherous, and Ilandreline did not mean their terrain. She'd lost a distant cousin to them more than a century earlier, and supposedly even the one who'd known enough to open the First Tree to the darkness at its roots hadn't known enough to come back.

But they were fast. She'd used them to get to Kalimdor in a few days, or to get from Tirisfal to her family's lands in an hour. Time and distance worked differently here, or perhaps they worked exactly the same and locationality was the odd one. There were multiple frames of reference to choose from, but they all boiled down to the same result: travel here was vastly more efficient than on Azeroth. Which is why you need to get moving instead of standing around!

Her feet started moving again, picking their way over what she assumed counted as "the ground". It was definitely dirt-like, and there were… grassish things… to either side, but it didn't smell quite right. Not for nature, at least. Most plants didn't smell so strongly of iron. No, not iron. She sniffed again, trying to place it. Ah, right. Blood. Fresh blood, at that, before it dulled to a brown stain on the stones. She wondered what this place would look like in sunlight. Would its appearance match the sharp scents? Could it even exist under such harsh light?

Despite carrying no torch, Ila was grateful for the sun's absence. Her sensitive eyes could remain free of the goggles for a little longer, taking in all the subtle variations of shadow that were lost in the harshness of day. She hadn't noticed how much she'd missed living with naked eyes until she'd started visiting with Granny Laine. The Respite was a lot of things, but even Silverpine gloom didn't compare to the tranquil shade of their forest. When she’d left the Ghostlands a few years ago, she’d felt like she had no home; now it seemed she’d found two. Ilandreline smiled at that, letting her mind wander as much as her body.

Time definitely didn’t function normally in the space. The pocket watch she’d made in her early days with the Fence told her it had been an hour, but her legs said it was much longer than that despite only feeling like fifteen minutes had passed. She pushed on, digging into her snack bag to put some energy back into her muscles. An hour later by internal reckoning -- and half that by the watch -- she stumbled out of sheer exhaustion and decided maybe it wasn’t time to get back up just yet. Had it been two hours or twelve? How far had she gone? Why were her first days’ meals gone already and how was she still hungry?

Her eyelids were heavy, far heavier than they should’ve been. “Fuck it, nap time.” The words came out slurred. It was a struggle just to move her pack beneath her head, to use it as a pillow. Before she drifted off, Ila stuffed one of her grandmother’s cookies into her mouth, figuring there was no better time for some homemade coziness than immediately before passing out to sleep entirely unprotected in the nightmarish wilderness-phase running tangent to her plane of origin. Aurelaine often joked she’d baked quite a few dishes with a lot of love in her younger days, where love was a euphemism for any number of exciting poisons. As she swallowed the last of the cookie and drifted into the deeper darkness of sleep, Ilandreline was quite positive she could taste some of that same love now.

***

Waking up felt surprisingly pleasant and not at all terrifying. Granny Laine was there, looking amused, and a vine had grown over her, but otherwise everything seemed… fine. Good, even. Ila stood and stretched, yawning, considering the last time sleep had left her so refreshed. Never? That sounded right.

"Couldn't help sneaking a treat before bed, eh?" Her grandmother's voice was mock-chiding, the only good kind of chiding to receive from her. "I should've known."

The vine tried to slither back around her leg, so she kicked it. "You didn't give me cookies to not eat them. It was lonely and I thought a taste of home would be nice. Didn't expect it to, I dunno, summon you or whatever."

"Is that what you think they did?"

The young elf shrugged, gathering her gear and preparing to get back on the road. "You're here, aren't you? Shall we?"

Her grandmother made an indeterminate noise in her throat but began walking beside her nonetheless. It was nice, really. They'd gone for a few strolls back home, but there were always people around to cause trouble. Not here. It was just the two of them and an entire ecology built on what sure seemed to be carnivorous plants.

They walked in silence for some time, only pausing for Ilandreline to sip the water she'd brought, trying to get the leftover tastes from the night out of her mouth. Everything, even the air, had an unusual taste; not of decay as she'd expected. Instead it was something remembered from childhood, one of those memories that hid if you looked straight at it. She'd have to sneak up on it by pretending to be interested in something else.

"So is this one of those things where we walk and you point out little things I need to know to survive or grow or whatever?"

She saw the cryptic smile from the corner of her eye. "Something like that, perhaps. Do you still need me holding your hand?"

"What? No! I just… not all of this comes easy, you know that. I'm fine with making things up as I go, but that's really dangerous with… this stuff." Ila gestured broadly, encompassing their entire surroundings. "I like to have the numbers on my side. There aren't any numbers here, no science. It's all, I don't know, epistemological gradients or something."

Aurelaine laughed, a gravelly sound bordering on coughing. A chortle! That's what one sounds like. "You're not wrong, child. I'm only along to observe. Maybe I can point something out that helps; maybe I even will. This is your journey, though, not mine. I've had my share already, paid the prices."

That made sense. They continued, once more quiet, moving too fast and too slow at once, causing everything around them to be in perfect detail as it warped under the effects of tunnel vision. The metallic taste remained in the back of her throat, tickling the corners of recollection. She refused to focus on it, knowing that to do so would ensure she never remembered the answer.

Everything changed from one blink to the next. The landscape was even darker now, near blinding to her gifted sight. Her nostrils flared, the distinct aroma of blood foremost in the air, enough to make one hungry. Or perhaps that was unrelated; journeys required food. As she went for her trail mix, something caught her wrist, stopped it entirely. Frowning, she glanced down to find a rubbery tendril wrapped around her arm. "Fuck off," she said, getting no reaction. The next best idea would be to cut it, but the only knife she had at the moment was not one she was willing to risk on a simple tentacle. She looked over to her grandmother instead. "Any chance you can do something about this?"

Grey eyebrows arched as eyes flicked from Ilandreline’s face to the appendage and back. “Of course I can.” She paused then deliberately added, “I won’t.”

Should’ve expected as much. “This one of those ‘your journey, your problem’ moments?” When Aurelaine nodded, she sighed. Time to figure it out then. There was a way; she was supposed to find it. Trial by fire and all that.

“If I go solving your problems,” the predictable lecture began, “you’ll keep expecting me to give you the answers. We both know that’s not how you learn. You want to see the whole process, derived from first principles. That way you can extend the logic as far as it goes, come up with your own hypotheses. It also ensures you aren’t limited by the pace of your teacher, doesn’t it?”

The fraction of her consciousness paying attention laughed. “Sure does. Saves them the trouble of trying to answer all my ‘why’ questions, too, so it’s really a service when you think about it. Don’t have to ask why if I’ve already done the math.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware that you’re infuriating, Lina, you don’t have to remind me.” Dry humour ran in the family even if it skipped a generation. “Getting back to the matter at hand, I’d simply remind that little pest about the order of things. It’s a remnant, a cast-off, a weak afterthought of a failed god’s stray thoughts. A pale imitation of the majesty to be found in the Great Dark, yearning to be more than it ever could. I’d simply banish it and move on.”

That was one possibility then, banishment. And how did banishing work? Ila tried to dredge up the memories of mostly futile arcane schooling, seeking the bits that had remained. Summoning circles… banishing circles? An inversion of process, though the commanding nature remained constant. How did that work for her, though? She knew how to draw the runes, but had never been able to power them independently. Blood would work, of course, had she prepared the circle already. There had to be another way.

She rolled back through the words, sifting through them more by “feel” than analysis. Hunches were the backbone of discovery; you felt something would be the answer, so you thought through the possibility. What else had been hinted at? Remnant. Afterthought. Failed. Imitation. Yearning. Afterthought-Imitation-Yearning. Was there something there? She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth, tasting iron and arsenic and something more as her mind kicked into gear.

The order of things. These paths were bored through the near-realms of Azeroth by the so-called Old Gods, the entrapped dwellers-between-stars her grandmother held in such low esteem. A trapped god was no god at all, for a proper god could not be limited. That meant any of their leftovers were inherently inferior to the powers receiving her family’s offerings. Not that creatures spawned from the lesser entities recognized Glimmerbow authority, but they should have. There was that connection, like distant cousins where one is heir to a throne and the other is a cast-off from some hedge knight.

Oh, is that it? Connectivity? Like to like? The tendril tightened, squeezing her bones. It was starting to hurt. If she waited too much longer, she might have to finish her trip with a shattered wrist. Time to see if I learned anything.

Ilandreline focused the entirety of her consciousness on the wriggling mass, willing her vision to bore through the layers to see down to where it was no longer a physical appendage. Deep down, it was a thoughtform, a psychic remnant, a projection, and she needed to see that. How long it took to finally happen, she didn’t know. She was drenched in sweat, and shaking from the effort, but she could see it clearly.

Banishment would require antithesis, but… that’s not what this is. We’re the same, aren’t we, cousins from the same blood? I can’t banish myself. So what if… She turned most of her attention inward, leaving only enough out to keep firm mental grasp on the essence of her assailant. There was this dead-end creature left behind by one of the Four… and then there was her. They were different, except where they weren’t. Similarity was what she needed now.

She burrowed into herself, pushing through the layers of supposed sophistication. On the lowest level she was not an elf, or even something shaped. She was an extension of the universe’s primal forces, a conduit of the Eternal Dark. At that point, she was what the tentacle thought itself to be. Letting herself dwell entirely in that space, she lost her self and called out to this distant cousin. See me, her mind cried, know me for what I am!

Their sameness was her focus, to establish communion. Something resonated -- somehow -- drawing the psychic echo toward her. She could feel its alienness, the oil-slick of fractal madness in its relict consciousness, just as surely as she knew her own essence was vastly more potent. What others would call the taint of her heritage was a strength here; she formed a pseudopod of self, vibrating midnight purple, and whipped outward. The sensation of startlement rippled across her mind, followed immediately by the primal panic of something being drawn to its inexorable demise.

The tendril was swallowed within her, its corrupt form dissolving within her purity of faith. A priest of the Glimmerbows was an architect of dissolution, a bringer of endings to foster the chaos of the new. What she hadn’t expected was the way it became a part of her.

Ila had never been at war in her own mind before. This severed piece of a dead un-god struggled with all its might to avoid being broken down, flailing every which way. For a moment she worried she might lose and end up a prisoner in her own flesh. Then reason reasserted itself, and the flexibility of mind her grandmother had praised made clear its value. She bent without breaking, absorbed the harshest assaults, returned to form without permanent deformation. And then she swallowed it whole, allowing the thing to be torn apart and joined with her essence.

Shaking so hard she couldn’t have written a single legible letter, the elf opened her eyes. Her grandmother faded from sight, though her approving gaze lingered. The overlapping flavours of multiple poisons lingered, dancing over her taste buds and scratching at her throat. She had no idea where she was, though she knew she had been walking all this time. The ligature marks of the tentacle remained on her forearm, though, proof that something had happened, that she had conquered the smallest challenge.

Several deep breaths later, the shivering stopped. Her whole body still tingled, the aftereffects of an adrenaline overdose, but that was manageable. She took a swig of water to put moisture back into her body, then pulled the “map” from her inside jacket pocket. It was more algorithmical than cartographical, but she read it as easily as Thalassian. There was… a place to be, and she was much closer now than when she had started.

Through an act of will, Ilandreline set her legs in motion again. There would be others, she knew. This realm was made from the dreams of god-corpses, an afterimage of what they’d tried to make real. But she had proof they paled before the strength Aurelaine had cultivated in her. Let the dead gods try their worst.

Stretching out through the mental channels her hallucinations had opened, she tasted the planar gradient and turned toward her destination. Plum was home and nightmare was the enemy, but blood and bone and leaf and light showed the way. Not entirely certain the poisons had actually left her system, Ila climbed toward her destination unaware of the horrific grin on her face.

#ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre #wow rp #warcraft rp

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peteywillproceed · 4 years

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The Devil In Disguise - Part 1

A/N: Hi guys, wow this has been a long time coming! I’ve been writing this whilst being sick in bed, so I hope it’s not that terrible! As always, I hope you like it, constructive feedback is appreciated, and if you wanna be added to the taglist just send me an ask! x

Summary: Y/n belongs to The Circle, a criminal gang known for its ruthlessness and brutality. Given a mission to kill Spiderman, Y/n attends Midtown High undercover to seek him out, not intending to feel more for one of her new friends than she should. Meanwhile, Spiderman must deal with the increasingly dangerous Huntress, never suspecting her true identity might hit closer to home than he could ever believe…

Word Count: 4,150 (the very defintion of getting carried away!)

Prologue

The New York skyline glittered in front of you as you stepped into the street and the sun began to rise. Ribbons of orange and yellow light were scattered through panels of glass lining the roads, buildings stretching so far into the sky you had to squint to see the tops. The acrid smell of smoke from exhaust pipes burnt the insides of your nostrils, but the feeling was so new, so exciting, that you barely thought about it, choosing instead to glide along the pavements as horns honked and the city came alive.

All it had taken was a three-hour flight from Minnesota and awkward introductions to your cover family for you to get here; now it was Monday, the first day back for the kids at Midtown Tech, and your first day period. Your school bag felt foreign on your shoulders, the weight of textbooks and assigned reading an alien feeling. You’d almost ignored the homework, like you’d always done when your dad tried to assign you extra reading for your training.

But you knew if you wanted to fit in, the bad girl image you’d worked so hard to create over the years wasn’t going to work, so instead you’d stuffed the suit Brenton had given you into the dark depths of the bag and buried it with chemistry. Begrudgingly, you’d cast an eye over the pages in an attempt to figure out what you’d be expected to do at this school, and you hadn’t understood a word. How Brenton had wangled your entrance to the best science school in the country was truly a mystery.

You swung through the gates and pushed your sunglasses up on your head, ignoring the surprised looks from students who weren’t used to newbies. You winked at one of the boys staring with his mouth open and spat the gum you’d been chewing into the nearest bin, catching yourself before you let yourself go too much. You were Brooke Loader, chemistry nerd and all around good girl, whose wardrobe consisted solely of grey cardigans and granny skirts. You weren’t Y/n L/n anymore, and you had to be careful.

“Excuse me?” you caught a guy’s shoulder as he rushed past you and looked up at him through your lashes. “Can you tell me where B27 is?”

“You’re new?” the guy ran his eye over you questioningly “I’m Flash.”

“Err, nice to meet you. But I’m really just looking for homeroom.”

Flash nodded, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s round the corner, good luck with Harrington.”

Without another word he spun on his feet and disappeared into the throng of students that had appeared in the corridor. You glanced down the hallway he’d pointed to and noticed a bunch of kids streaming into a classroom, figuring that was where you needed to be. You glanced at your watch, noting you were perfectly late, and strode towards the door.

“Ahh, Miss Loader, I was wondering when you were going to show up,” a voice dripping with sarcasm drawled as you poked your head through. You glanced up at the male voice and saw the guy you guessed was Mr Harrington, giving him a small wave as you stood awkwardly in the door. You’d never played the quiet, unsure girl, and it was taking all your energy to bite back your retort.

“Well, please take a seat. There’s one next to MJ,” he pointed towards a girl with long, brown hair, whose head was buried in a book. As you swung into the seat, you clocked the title and leaned over to whisper to her.

“To Kill A Mockingbird? That’s my favourite.” Of course it wasn’t, you’d never read the stupid thing. But it was Brooke’s favourite.

MJ raised her eyebrows, squinting as she tried to make you out. Her gaze was so penetrating that for one, awful minute you thought she’d figured you out and your cover was already blown. But a smile soon spread across her face and she closed the book.

“Mine too,” she nodded, reaching her hand out “MJ.”

“Brooke,” you grinned, glad you’d got through to her. You glanced nervously towards the front of the class, but Mr Harrington was busy at his computer and you reckoned it was probably safe to talk.

“So, you’re new then, how’d that happen? It’s senior year.”

“Parents moved,” you shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “guess they just couldn’t leave me behind.”

It was a simple cover, but MJ burst into laughter and your joke, earning herself an annoyed look from Harrington. “What’s your specialty?”

“Chemistry. But I gotta be honest, I didn’t really think I’d get in here.”

“Really?” MJ raised an eyebrow “why’s that?”

“I bombed the entrance tests,” you pretended to look ashamed, glancing back down at your desk “I kind of feel like I don’t belong.”

“Don’t be stupid, what have you got next? The bell goes soon and I can walk you there.”

“Wow, thanks. Err, I think I have History,” you pointed at the print out of the timetable you’d grabbed from reception and MJ smiled.

“Me too. You’ve got lunch the same period as me and my friends, I’ll introduce you guys. You’ll meet more friendly faces like that.”

You didn’t know why you felt so relieved, you hadn’t been worried about making friends, but there was something about MJ that made you want to impress her, even if you were lying through your teeth to do it.

The bell rang, a screeching sound you definitely had not been prepared for, and MJ laughed as your hands flew over your ears. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“It’s like a fucking banshee,” you muttered, eyes widening as you realised what you’d just said. Brooke Loader definitely didn’t swear. “I..I mean…”

“Brooke, chill, you can swear, I don’t care!”

“Oh okay,” you took a breath, bracing yourself for anymore slip ups. You’d been here less than half an hour, and already you were royally screwing up the only job Brenton had ever entrusted you with.

As MJ walked with you to your next class, you chatted animatedly about the city and everything there was to do. You kept trying to slip in Spiderman, but she brushed off any mention of the superhero, and changed the conversation back to what you’d been talking about originally. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d be interested in what celebrities got up to anyway, and you made a mental note to try and bring him up in a different way.

At last, the class started and you could lose yourself in rudimentary history you’d never cared about. There was way too much bias in the subject, you remembered one of your tutors telling you, and the only thing you could learn from a class like that was just how dedicated they were to the government. You scribbled notes like your hand was on fire, staying as quiet as you could, but none of what you wrote down was what the teacher was lecturing. Instead, you made a plan of attack for finding more about the webslinger you’d been assigned to take out.

You seriously doubted that any of the students knew his identity, and even if they did they weren’t just going to outright tell you. No, you had to be sneaky here, and you had to bring it up subtly. You decided that, every chance you got, you’d slip in a question relating to Spiderman that would be innocuous enough. After all, why wouldn’t you be curious? You’d just moved to the city that was home to an Avenger!

When the final bell rang, you knew exactly what you had to do. A buzz in your pocket let you know you had a text, the only possible source the burner phone Brenton had given you before you’d left.

‘Status report’

You rolled your eyes. Jesus, you’d been here less than twenty four hours, what did the man expect? Full details of identity and credit card info?

‘Give me a chance. My bed’s barely gone cold.’

Hoping the response was snappy enough to get him off your case, all you had to do now was pray your plan of action worked - if it didn’t, you didn’t want to think about what the consequences might be.

***

“Guys, this is Brooke,” MJ introduced you to the circle of people crowded round one of the cafeteria tables who stared at you like you were the last sandwich at the picnic.

“Hi,” you smiled, casting your eye over them. They were all the same age, and at least you recognised one. Flash was leaning back in his chair, his feet kicked up on the table with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Hey sweetheart, find homeroom alright then?”

“You’re friends with him?” you raised an eyebrow in MJ’s direction and she stifled a laugh.

“Not really, he just hangs around because he can’t convince anyone else to put up with him.”

“Now that makes sense.” Flash rolled his eyes at your comment, but you simply took a seat in front of a brown, curly haired boy who hadn’t taken his eyes off you. “Brooke,” you introduced yourself “nice to meet you.”

“Pe…Peter,” he stumbled, and you bit back a smile. Somebody wasn’t used to talking to girls, you thought, spying the awkward rub of sweaty palms against jeans. He was kind of cute, in a nerdy, never had sex kind of way – his jumper was ruffled and his hair was a mess, none of that nasty gel stuff you’d seen in the movies. He didn’t seem that sure of himself, too busy clutching a pen between his fingers as he scribbled what looked like equations into a book.

“And I’m Ned,” the other guy interrupted, and you mentally shook yourself. You were here for one thing and one thing only, and it wasn’t to be going after guys.

“Nice to meet you, Ned,” you nodded, scooping up some of the brown sludge you’d had slopped on your plate by a slightly grumpy cafeteria lady. “God, the food really isn’t good anywhere is it?”

“Just wait until you try the lasagne,” Peter laughed, suddenly animated. “I’m pretty sure they use cardboard instead of pasta.”

“Good to know,” you smiled, itching to change this conversation into something more interesting. Luckily, MJ swooped in with the perfect question, and you knew exactly how to work that to your advantage.

“So Brooke, what do you like about New York so far?” she asked, and you pretended to think.

“Well, I’ve not seen that much, but I hear Spiderman lives here,” you shot a conspiring look at MJ who shifted uncomfortably in her suit “he’s pretty cool.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ned coughed, and suddenly the atmosphere grew a lot tenser than it had been twenty seconds ago. That was odd, you thought – for a city so hung up on having its own Avenger, these people seemed…awkward. Why? What did they have to hide?

“Do you see him on the streets?” You asked breezily, happily tucking into your food as you felt eyes burning your skin.

“Err, well, he’s pretty busy I guess,” MJ coughed, and you glanced over at Peter who’d remained suspiciously quiet throughout the whole conversation.

“Pete?”

“Wha- oh, uh, Spiderman? Yeah, uh, he’s cool, he’s a cool dude,” Peter stuttered, turning bright red. You were feeling the second hand embarrassment here, and you wanted to scream.

“Do you guys just not like him or something?” you tried to play your comment off, laughing and flipping your hair, but the tension was still thick in the air and you cursed yourself for alienating them already. It was pretty clear they knew more than they let on.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Flash grinned “it’s just he’s only usually about at night so none of us really know that much about him. People make out that he’s Queens’ little superhero but he’s an Avenger, he’s not really hanging about on the streets.”

You nodded, stuffing your face with the disgusting mash before you could say anything else. Another beep in your pocket and you turned away from the group, letting them dive back into their own conversations whilst you slid the burner phone out of your pocket.

Need you to go to Warehouse tonight. Pick up a package and keep it safe. Address to follow.

You let the words wash over you, processing what they meant, and bit back the squeal that threatened to erupt. Finally, you got to go and do something – these people might not be giving you anything, but at least the mission wasn’t completely boring.

“What ya doing?” a voice interrupted your thoughts, and on instinct you slammed the phone into your pocket. Peter cocked at eyebrow in surprise and you let out a little gasp.

“Err, nothing, just, uh, texting my mum.”

“Oh yeah? About what? Plans for world domination?” He smiled at you, and it was so endearing that you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling back. Brown hair curled around his ears and he pushed his glasses further up his nose as he stared at you, making you laugh as he crossed his eyes and pulled a stupid face.

“Something like that,” you finally replied as the bell signalling the end of lunch rang through the cafeteria.

“Hey, what have you got next? Let me walk you to class.”

You were taken aback by Peter’s offer, and were half tempted to refuse him before you remembered how flustered he’d become over the mere mention of Spiderman. Maybe there was something there…

“Sure,” you said, dumping the remainder of your food in the bin. “Spanish, but I can’t speak a single word of it.”

“Ahh, it’s not that hard, sneak Google Translate in if you have to.”

“Didn’t peg you for a cheater, Parker.”

“Didn’t peg you for a Chemistry specialty, but here we are.”

You placed a hand over your heart, mock offended, and rolled your eyes. “You wound me. Only Spiderman can save me now.”

“I’m sure Spiderman would love to,” Peter replied, exaggerating the ‘love’ a little more than you liked.

“I hear he’s rumoured to be a high school student,” you wiggled your eyebrows, spotting your opportunity. Your little risk had been worth it though, because suddenly Peter looked like he’d been caught in headlights, and his entire body went rigid in shock.

“What?” he asked, panic lacing his voice.

“Oh you haven’t heard?” the faux innocence in your voice was annoying even you, but you bit your lip and got on with it, knowing this was the only way to get the information you needed. Stumbling upon these guys was a stroke of luck in your eyes, they seemed to know a hell of a lot about the webslinger. “Yeah, he’s rumoured to be a student here.”

“Yeah, no no, I heard that,” Peter shook himself a little, but started chewing on his lip. Your eyes were drawn to the way his teeth nibbled the skin, but you snapped out of your reverie as he waved a hand in your face. “Y/n?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you smiled, hoping that would make you look less like an idiot. Jesus, you just needed to get on with the job.

“I just said, do you think you’ll be able to find your way to your class? I’ve just remembered I’ve gotta go…sort something out.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course,” you nodded, confused as to why Peter was suddenly running off. You hadn’t said anything that crazy, and you hoped you hadn’t offended him. But then again, so what if you had? It wasn’t like you were going to be here much longer anyway.

“Awesome, thanks!” Peter called over his shoulder, but it was pointless because he was already tearing off down the hallway.

You were smart enough to figure out wherever he was going was probably related to the person you were trying to kill, but following him felt…creepy. You’d just met this guy, and even though he may very well have been your best lead, it still felt wrong to tail him round the whole of New York. Instead, you made a mental note to run a background check as soon as you got in that evening, and tried to pretend yourself that you weren’t in the least bit interested in the results for anything other than work reasons.

***

It was late when you finally got to the warehouse Brenton had sent you to that night. You’d been meaning to leave well before eight, but your host family had insisted upon dinner, and it wasn’t like you could tell them you had to run an errand. You ended up getting there just past midnight, and you cursed yourself for not texting Brenton – what if the person delivering the package had gone home? What if they just hadn’t bothered?

You were dressed head to toe in the stealth suit that had been specially made for you, and you had to admit you absolutely loved it. You’d been expecting it to fit baggy in all the places it should’ve been tight, but whoever had made it clearly knew what they were doing – the carbon fibre fit snuggly and the vibranium swords strapped to your back were as light as they were deadly.

Sneaking into the warehouse, you shone your torch around the building, quickly realising it was abandoned. Whatever company used to operate here had long since packed up and left, but small traces of the operation still lingered with pieces of alien tech scattered around the floor.

“You’re late,” a gravelly voice said, and you spun to find the source. The beam from your torch landed on a figure hovering in the shadows, and you rolled your eyes at the theatre.

“Oh cut the dramatics. Code word.”

“Heretic,” the gravelly voice replied, confirming the code name you’d been told to expect “And you?”

“Huntress.”

The figure moved out of the shadows and clicked his fingers. Immediately, white light filled the echoing warehouse, lights flicking on everywhere, so bright you could see every cobweb. You covered your eyes on reflex, forgetting how vulnerable it made you, and blinked hard at the sudden change.

“I have some information for you,” Heretic said, and you crossed your arms in annoyance.

“I thought it was a package.”

“That too. But first: Spiderman knows you’re after him. Our sources say he found a hitman had been dispatched once he took down the Manhattan Chapter.”

“He’s probably expecting an old, white man. Doesn’t put me in any danger, he can’t see my face in this,” you shrugged, grateful for the inclusion of a mask in your suit.

“Do they train all the young recruits to be this cocky?” The man sighed, and you let out a hollow laughed.

“Only the bosses’ daughters.” You had plenty of this, the assumption that because you were a young lady you paled in comparison to what older men could accomplish. It was just the way The Circle was, but you were sick of constantly being underestimated. “Just give me the package.”

The man started digging around in his pockets and produced a small, crumpled packet of wrinkled brown paper. An ethereal, purple glow seeped out from the corners he’d failed to wrap, and you knew instantly what it was. You reached out to take it, but before you could, a line of sticky rope shot down from above you and snatched it from the man’s palm.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” a voice said.

Your head snapped upward, your hand flying to your sword as recognition switched on in your mind. Didn’t you know that voice from somewhere? Red and blue spandex swung from one of the lights, and the masked man was waving cheerily from his perch. Heretic started to run, not getting far before he was pinned against a wall in a fresh web, and you rolled your eyes – and he thought you’d been cocky.

“Actually, it does belong to me, and I’d like it back.” You turned your attention back to Spiderman, who let go of the light he swung from and dropped down to the floor, landing almost silently. He tossed the package lazily in his hand, his head cocked as though he had no idea of the power that tiny object held.

“I think you’ll find it belongs to the United States Government, but I’m sure they’d be willing to lend it to you if you ask nicely,” he shrugged, and you bared your teeth, thankful that you’d switched your voice modifier on well before you’d arrived. He, however, hadn’t, if he even had one, and the familiarity of the voice was starting to get on your nerves.

“I really don’t give a shit about semantics, give me back my package.”

“Why don’t you come and get it?” He dangled the challenge in front of you, waiting for you to take the bait, and even though every fibre in your body told you not to, pure instinct won over.

You started running towards him, leaping into the air and flipping yourself high over his head. As you arced over his body, your hand shot out to grab his mask, but he ducked at the last second and your fingers just grazed with the material. You hit the ground and slid along the concrete, looking up just in time to roll away from a web grenade.

“Come on, Spidey, you can do better than that,” you panted, wanting to hear him talk more. If he did, maybe you’d have a better chance at placing him.

He seemed frustrated by your comment, suddenly becoming a lot more energetic, and threw himself towards you. It was a mistake you’d been expecting, and within half a second you’d brought your knife out and thrown it towards his lunging body. The aim was crap, but it caught his side, and he hit the ground with a thud.

You started toward him, sword in hand to finish the job, a smirk on your face as you ran through everybody you’d met so far and their voices, desperate to figure out which one matched, when all of a sudden Spidey’s hand shot out from underneath him, and you were caught by a flying web that threw you back against the wall. Your head cracked against the concrete, and stars swam before your eyes, threatening to make you pass out as black tinged the edges of your vision.

“Is that good enough for you?” he asked, walking slowly towards you. He was clutching his side and you could just make out a river of blood dribbling from a wound you’d caused. “What’s your name?”

“Huntress,” you bit out, regaining your senses and starting to kick against the web fluid.

“I wouldn’t bother, that stuff won’t dissolve for another two hours,” he shrugged, collapsing to the floor. “Plenty of time to chit chat.”

“I don’t really want to engage in conversation thanks,” you hoped the acid was enough to throw him off guard, and he threw his hands up in defence.

“Hey, lady, you’re the one that tried to kill me, not the other way around.” When you didn’t respond, he continued. “I’d really like to know who’s under that mask.”

“Never gonna happen, this suit’s coded to only come apart when I voice activate it to.”

“Oh, I know, I figured that out as soon as I saw it. I was just musing.”

You stopped, mouth falling open in shock. This guy had just…seen your suit, and figured out how a multi million dollar piece of tech worked? Just like that? So he was smart. No wonder he went to Mid Town Tech.

“Look, I don’t have much longer, if I don’t get home I’ll get in soooooooo much trouble. But have a nice evening!” Spiderman started to get to his feet, the whole conversation feeling surreal to you, and you called out to him.

“Wait! Don’t think this will be the last you’ve heard of me!”

He shrugged in response, pulling the package out of a hidden pocket and turning it over in his hand. “Now that I believe.”

All at once, he was gone, swinging out of the warehouse and leaving you trapped in his web. You tried to wrestle one of your swords from your back, but it was impossible to even move your wrist. Grumbling in defeat, you let your head fall back against the wall and grimaced at the pain. This was all so ridiculous, he shouldn’t have even been able to touch you, let alone pin you up against a bloody wall. You’d let your guard slip because you thought his voice had sounded familiar, and you’d got excited that maybe you’d already run into him.

Next time, you wouldn’t be so stupid.

Taglist:

@jinxfanfics @zabdisamor @jillanaholland @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife

#peter parker fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction #spider man fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #tom holland smut #peter parker smut

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xfanfics · 4 years

Photo

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 1

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity. Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 48 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

For Science! by pm_lo E | 21k | ABO, Omega!cas, Alpha!Dean,

Selected transcripts and supporting materials from Dr. Castiel Williams and Dean Winchester’s seminal study on physiological and psychological sexual response by gender designation.

Even though this is a dialogue/email text only story, I still very much enjoyed it and found it ridiculously hot. Maybe I'm just easy. (No I'm not. This fic is good, read it.)

Forget-Me-Not Blues by noangelsinthegarrison E | 68k | Firefighter!Dean, Professor!Cas, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining

Sam and Jess are getting married and Dean couldn’t be any happier for them. Honestly, they’re kind of disgustingly perfect for each other and Dean’s pretty damn excited about staying with them the week before the wedding. He’s Sam’s best man, of course, and he doesn’t even mind that Jess has her own best man to share in all the organizational duties. The more the merrier, right? Except Dean must have done something to epically piss off the universe because Jess’s best man just happens to be Castiel friggin’ Novak. He’s got even hotter since High School, but apparently no friendlier and if Cas wants to spend the week pretending like they’ve never met before? Fine. Two can play at that game.

THIS WAS SO GOOD I'M TEARING UP. tropes abound and I love it!

Cops and Robbers by kinkstiel E | 53k [WIP] | Detective!Dean, Criminal!Cas, Top!Cas, Bottom!dean

They locked eyes for a minute and then Cas leaned back as far as the cuffs would let him go, spreading his legs obscenely wide. “I want you to suck my cock, Dean.” Dean balked, mouth going dry in a second, eyes slipping to the now visible bulge in Castiel’s suit pants. “Um,” he said stupidly, face flushing red, eyes unable to pull away. Cas hummed. “Depending on how well you suck me, I might just tell you everything you want to know.” He licked his lips, smirking slightly when he caught Dean’s gaze. “And with sinful little lips like yours,” he made a low whistling sound, “I don’t doubt you’ll get every last name out of me.

So very good. Love the dark and dirtiness of it. It does get lighter and sappier towards the end tho.

Cursed or Not ❤ by Ltleflrt E | 115k | witch!Cas, shapeshifter!Dean, switching

While experimenting with magic when he was a kid, Sam accidentally cursed Dean. Now, Dean is forced to wear a spelled amulet constantly, or he'll turn into a random animal. For a little over a decade, he's learned to live with the curse, and has even found it useful in some cases, but he sure would be happier without it. When he meets a witch named Castiel, he's offered a deal. Instead of assuming all witches are bad, Dean can spend a season getting to know him. If at the end of the season, Dean still thinks he's evil Castiel will send him away with his memory wiped of the whole experience. But if he learns that Castiel is not the monster Dean assumes he is, he'll lift Dean's curse. It's an offer Dean can't bring himself to pass up.

Literally perfect. Enthralling world, magical relationship.

Surprise Package by wannaliveindeansdimples E | 3k | Hot, , Dom Cas, Sub Dean, Light BDSM

When Cas' roommate Meg has to go out of town suddenly, she leaves him an unexpected gift.

So so hot. Non extreme Dom!cas and sub!dean.

Never Have I ever by sweetdean M | 78k | Fluff, High School AU, top!cas, bottom!dean

When Jo drags Dean along to a game of "never have I ever" with her friends, he finds himself getting caught up in a lot more than just a game. “Never have I ever hung out with such an asshole,” Dean countered, positively shocked at his own sass. Cas smirked again. “Oh, are we hanging out now?fricken adorable

Road Signs by gemmiel E | 9k| Canon!verse, true form

Dean is curious about how angels have sex. Castiel shows him.

Damn. True form, soul sex, and regular sex. Yes please.

It's Brilliant, Really by snarkymonkey E | 15k | Fluff, AU, Professor!cas, Stuntman!dean

Castiel Novak is a History adjunct at Stanford University. He's also the most patient younger brother. When his older brother, Gabriel, decides to start *wooing* one of his younger waiters, Castiel reluctantly agrees to double-date with the intended paramour's older brother. What he didn't expect, however, was how much his own life would flip over such a careless decision.

Adorable. Hot, and adorable.

Gabriel's Unfortunate Mistake by JackHawksmoor E | 8k | Hot, AU

an answer to a prompt: Gabriel decides to hire a prostitute for his virgin brother Castiel as a joke, but instead accidentally hires Dean, a professional Dom. The moment Dean first lays a hand on him, Castiel knows he is lost. Dean/Castiel AU.

Um mm.... Damn. That was hot. Newbie sub!cas and pro dom!dean

Well-Beloved Unto Me by Moorishflower E | 3k | Alt!Canon, tentacles

The Winchesters don't get rewarded for all the shit they go through, so Dean is understandably wary when a few recharged and promoted angels offer him and Sam the vacation of a lifetime. Title comes from the Song of Solomon.

True form. And sex. MY FAVE.

How to Date an Angel in 12 Easy Steps by Fourthduckling E | 23k | Fluff, Alt!canon

It's not that hard to date an angel. All Dean has to do is fight off hordes of vampires, research gay porn, get sucked into a crappy Narnia, endure Sam's comments, creep out on Dr. Sexy, get harassed -- oh, and that's right-- figure out he's into Cas. Easy, right?

SQUUEEEE. Perfect and cute and cuddly.

Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right But Three Rights Make A Left by the0voice0from0above E | 45k | High School AU, Dancer!Cas, Welder!Dean,

The beautiful Garrison Ballet School becomes home to a reckless bunch of misfits after the Colt Welding Academy is severely damaged in a fire and has to close for repairs. Needless to say, Castiel and his friends clash with their unwanted guests but there's one boy in particular who infuriates him.

Dancer!au. Love it love it love it!

Rest My Angel by cobalt_wings E | 86k | Fluff, Season 9 AU

Angels are falling from the sky, and Dean is losing it. Sam is dying in his arms, and one of those burning, twisting figures blazing through the night air might be his very own angel, Castiel. What can he do to help those he loves?

Sex and domestic and lots of fucking. My fave.

One Species Too Many by wallmakerrelict E | 21k | Fluff, Alt!canon

While Dean is laid up for a month after breaking his leg on a hunt, Cas decides that it's a perfect time to adopt a litter of kittens. But even though he's gotten better since Purgatory, Cas still isn't quite the same as he was before fixing Sam's head, and being trapped in a cabin with him for weeks on end is making that all the more obvious to Dean. When Sam takes off on a hunt, Dean has to figure out on his own how to navigate his new relationship with Cas while also helping to raise a bunch of fuzzballs that aren't even cute. Not even a little bit. (Well, maybe a little bit.)

Team free will with kittens!! So fluffy and domestic but also a touch of angst.

It's A Bet by vitamindesi E | 34k | College AU, top!cas, bottom!dean

Destiel College!AU in which freshman Dean is dared by his best friends to hit on senior Castiel at a party. He wants to say no but then someone starts a bet and Benny bets a sum that is ridiculously high for a student and Dean can’t disappoint Benny, right? I deviated only, but hopefully it suffices.

So fabulous and smutty I want to cry. Literally perfection.

Your Call Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by eBob, K_K_TiBal T | 66k [WIP] | Fluff, College AU

AU in which Castiel accidentally sends a text message to the wrong number and befriends the person at the other end of the line. However, accidents don’t just happen accidentally, and sometimes two completely different people are exactly what the other needs.

LITERALLY THE BEST. So many feelings. I WANT IT TO BE COMPLETE SO MUCH. Abandoned WIP.

Equinox by luchia E | 12k | Alt!canon, time travel

In which Castiel is the weird time-traveling freak who just might be the love of Dean Winchester's life.

Confusing but perfect time travel fic.

If I run by betty days E | 4k | Hot, AU, sexting, long distance relationship

"Dean Winchester is a red-blooded American male. He lifts all the things. He aims for functional strength. He counts his macros and makes fun of curlbros. He is not a member of the Tarahumara tribe and he will not read Born to Run, no matter how many times Sam tells him to, because Starting Strength is the only book Dean will ever fucking need." Wherein a friendly competition with the mysterious ThursdaysAngel turns into a sexy selfie-trading spree that motivates Dean Winchester to train for his first marathon.

Soo. Hot. Makes me want to actually exercise?

The Little Things by Alreadypainfullygone T | 2k | Angst, Cancer, Major Character Death

Au based on 'the big C' in which Dean gets very sick, and deals with it the denial way. Meeting a homeless man on the way. Dean/Castiel Angst. Warning for trigger - Cancer. sorry if you think I dealt with it badly.

This is only 2.8k words, and yet it managed to make me cry.

Do What Feels Good by Catchclaw, cymbalism E | 12k | Hot, Alt!canon, PWP

Castiel learns to love alone time in the shower. And then he learns to share.

Fuuuuuck that was hot. Castubation and shower sex is just so hnnnggg.

All That Is And Used To Be by MisaChan E | 26k | Alt!Canon, wing!Kink

Dean never even knew anyone was living in the old estate outside of town until its mysterious occupant contracts his shop for a very specific job: a custom piano bench with grooves cut into the back. He finds Castiel and his terms to be eccentric with a capital E but the money is too good to turn down and anyway, Dean can't help indulging his curiosity about the guy and his secretive, isolated life. There are secrets that will not stay hidden and stories that refuse to be forgotten. Especially when they happen to involve Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel.

Ugh, I love this story. Concept, execution, and characterization are all perfect.

Do I Have Something Like That? by MysticMoonhigh E | 2k | Hot, horn!kink, wing!kink

based on the tumblr post I made: Does anybody know any demon!Dean fics where Cas makes Dean climax by basically giving his demon horns a hand job because I want this so badly out of lifE | I'm. I've read this about three times and I think I'm finally coming to terms with my alien biology kink. Hot. Wink!kink and horn!kink. Yes.

The Doctor Will See You Now by PetrichorPerfume E | 7k| Hot, PWP sub!dean, gentle dom!cas, wing!kink

Dean has a medical kink. Castiel is more than happy to oblige. Starring Castiel as the slightly unorthodox Dr. Novak who enjoys prescribing enforced chastity and daily tease and denial sessions, and Dean as his needy, submissive patient who will do anything for a chance to come.

Wowowwowowow. Um. This was super hot. Nnnghhhh.

Into Your Hideaway by thepinupchemist E | 176k |Angst, a/b/o, omega!dean, alpha!cas, mpreg

Driving down a deserted road in the Rocky Mountains, Castiel finds something unexpected: An omega. Not only an omega, but a naked, injured, pregnant omega. Dean doesn't talk much at first, but that doesn't change the brightness of his soul. It also doesn't stop Castiel from falling in love with him.

I just... Wow. This was an amazing story. Beware that it is possibly very triggering, because of rape, assault, violence, and general bigotry. But perhaps because of all of that, you get a story that is almost painful in its reality, and it is all the more loveable for that.

The World Crashing All Around by thepinupchemist E | 36k| Alt!canon, best friends wing!Kink, kid!fic

During a storm in September of 1987, Dean and Sam hear something hit their roof. When they brave the backyard to investigate, they find a fledgling angel. A story about best friendship, spoiled plans, and love, in four parts.

OH MY GOD. This was perfect all the way through. From soul bonds, to slow burn, to growing up together as best friends, it's all my favorite. And it even has wing kink, which is literally the best.

Share Your Burden by aTimeOfMagic E | 3k Hot, PWP, Sub!dean, dom!cas

Set at the end of 'Are You There God? It's Me Dean Winchester.' 4.02. Castiel shows Dean that he deserves respect, and Dean comes to see that Cas is not, in fact, just a 'hammer'. He also learns that his 'people skills' are definitely not entirely 'rusty'.

Damn. Um, really hot. Also, unexpectedly sweet.

Flawless by Vaerin E | 69k | a/b/o, accidental bonding, sub!dean, dom!cas

A contract is out on the Winchesters, a large sum of money the reward for throwing them off their game. A witch in the town they happen to be passing through decides to collect. She sets her sights on Dean, trying to seduce him into leaving his job to stay with her. When she can't even convince him to warm her bed, she decides to turn her job into his punishment. Knowing he fears commitment and can't stand the thought of being with a man, she works a spell between him and Castiel... the one friend he can call a safe haven. When they end up mated the next morning, not only does the Winchester family business suffer... but so does Dean's friendship with Castiel.

Cute long soul bond fic. Contains sabriel.

Chasing Normal by Donovanspen M | 16k | Fluff, First time, Cuddling & Snuggling

Dean reevaluates his definition of an 'apple pie life' and what that means for him, personally.

This is the definition of domestic fluff and smut. There's a wee bit of angst because hey, it's set in the canon verse. But so worth it.

Hold On by somuchforbaggles E | 92k | Fluff, Angst, mental illness

Castiel is sure that nothing in his life will ever change. Everything that happens to him is predictable, from the stability of his job to the unrelenting sporadic anxiety attacks, he can rely on his life to stay the same forever - until he saves Dean Winchester from the path of an oncoming train. From then on, everything changes for both of them, and the only way they can deal with it is together.

Woww. This was an amazing ride. Angsty and fluffy, then angsty again, then back to fluffy. So good.

I said to myself again by avyssoseleison E | 2k | Fluff, Praise!kink, Self-esteem issues

Dean finally lets himself be appreciated and cared for by his angel.

Praise kink is my ultimate weakness

The One Thing You Can't Lose by MajorEnglishEsquire T | 4k | Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling

You know what I like a lot? The thought that Dean can just tug Cas anywhere at any time and Cas, who can lift tons without effort, who can demolish things with the light of his grace, who has battled and gone to war, has defended and broken, will just let Dean do it.

fluffy love

Spit Slick by VeraBAdler M | 1k | Fluff, , First Time

[no description]

A super cute fluffy little oneshot :3 (tags say 'happy sex' and 'sexy cuddling' if you need more to go on)

Late Bloomer by somuchforbaggles T | 7k | Alt!Canon, Wing!kink, Wingfic, Soulmates

On every child’s seventh birthday, a celebration is held to mark the beginning of their journey as a fledgling - a sprouting ceremony. It doesn’t matter if the child hasn't shown the symptoms of emerging wings yet, for it is scientific fact that every child grows wings in their seventh year, sometimes even earlier. Castiel is not every child.

A coming of age wing fic. With mates. Basically, I'm in love.

Sleight of Hand by aileenrose M | 64k | Angst, Human AU, psychic cas, journalist dean

Dean Winchester has interviewed them all--mob bosses, serial killers, crooked politicians. Next he plans to unveil the con-man who markets himself as Castiel, a reclusive and secretive "healer" who claims to heal the sick in return for thousands of dollars. Dean's expecting a challenge, but he never expected Castiel to be so clueless or sweet...or that he might be telling the truth.

I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS AU. The one where Dean is a skeptical journalist/professional idiot and Cas is a socially inept healer and mind reader. There's lots of angst, but the payoff is so worth it.

Leaning In by Anonymous T | 15k | Hospital AU

Castiel never changed out his scrubs, Dean had a way of getting himself injured and Sam seemed to think it was a good pairing

Even though I have no idea who actually wrote this story, it's worth a read. I'm always up for a good medical AU.

Someone I Forgot to Be by MatildaMavis E | 36k Fluff, Angst, Human AU

Castiel is content - sort of - with his quiet life in Boston...at least, until his new neighbor moves in. It's Dean Winchester, the cliched long lost love of his life. Can these two idiots find their way back to each other after eight years, after fame and loss and heartbreak? After Dean has found love again with Cas' neighbor, Lisa? Fate can be a sadistic bitch, they've both learned that, but maybe they've matured enough to be able to handle it this time. The sparks, the attraction, the tension...or maybe not.

I thought this would be extremely painful, and it sort of was. But it was so worth it.

Didn't Get That Particular Memo by Snarkymonkey E | 5k

Dean has worked with his best friend for years and maybe it's a bit more than that for him but not for Castiel, right? Right. And really, he'd feel so much better if Castiel would just get a companion already. Because it's not like Castiel actually wants him, right? Right.

Damn, that was fucking hot.

Cas, You Had A Baby? by allthebeautifulthings9828 M | 132k | Fluff, Alt!Canon, Kid Fic, Slow Build

At some point in every angel's life, raising a fledgling is required. Castiel's turn comes rather unexpectedly when his superiors hand off a newly created infant angel to him and leave him to raise it with all of Heaven's principles of blind obedience. He's not sure what to do, so he tucks the fledgling in his coat and goes straight to Dean and Sam Winchester. Together, Dean and Castiel hatch a plan to raise the fledgling away from Heaven's control. And soon, the angel Hael arrives with news that, after Castiel disappeared, she and four other angels ran from Heaven's oppression with their fledglings. Castiel finds himself the unwitting ringleader of angels choosing to raise their fledglings with the principles of free will. Is angelic parenthood too much for his deepening relationship with Dean? Who can they really trust? (Disclaimer: This story depicts fledglings consuming honey for the nourishment of their undeveloped graces. Human babies cannot consume honey, so please do not feed it to your infants. This is fiction.)

Oh. My. God. I admit that I was skeptical at the beginning about this story, but let me tell you, it sucked me in. Sometimes, you run across a story that has wonderful OCs that you get attached to. This is one of those. And of course, the baby is adorable.

Healing by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett M | 2k | Fluff, Canon!verse, PWP

Castiel can heal more than just physical wounds.

Sensual and romantic.

Better Late Than Never by whelvenwings G | 23k | Fluff, Alt!canon, friends to lovers,

When Dean first sees Castiel, he's clinging on for dear life - and things never really get any easier. In fact, they get a lot harder; Dean's worst enemy isn't always the monkey bars. Bound together year on year by the ritual pact of being a Guardian Angel, Dean and Cas grow close, showing loyalty and bravery in the face of danger. But will they ever find the courage to admit their true feelings for each other - and will it be too late by the time they do?

i LOVE best friends to lovers fics! and this delivers on that perfectly.

Like A Candle In The Window On A Cold Dark Winter's Night by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel T | 6k | Fluff, Canon!verse, asexual Cas

In which Castiel saves Dean, Dean saves Castiel, there is beer and TV watching, and if it weren't for the monsters and assassination attempts, life would be almost perfect.

A cute little fic I've read multiple times :)

How many slams in an old screen door? by dandelioness T | 15k | Fluff, Theatre AU, Asexual Cas

In which Castiel is a theatre major terrible at first impressions; Dean is a set designer who likes Cas anyway; and the most chaotic production of Les Miserables in history somehow manages to go off without a hitch. Or, just as you should never give a moose a muffin (because he'll want some jam to go with it), you should never give a blank check to a university theatre department.

This is perfect. I can't speak for the accuracy of the information and feelings given about asexuals/asexuality, but I enjoyed this fic nonetheless.

Breath of Heaven by solacesnake18 E | 9k

When Dean is wounded and dying in Purgatory, Castiel returns from his self-imposed exile to help him.

Wow. True!form cas and metaphysical sex that somehow manages to be poetic, emotional, and erotic all at once. I approve.

The Mirror by CloudyJenn M | 24k | Canon!Verse,

When Dean touches a strange mirror, he's whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn't take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

One of my favorite fics, and a fandom classic. So beautiful. It's a trip, but you'll love it. The ending makes me really emotional.

Rock 'n' Roll Queer Bar by chasingrabbits E | 121k | Fluff, Human AU

Ellen and Jo Harvelle run Harvelle's Roadhouse, a bar that unintentionally becomes a beacon for wayward queer souls. Her employees: Dean, the smartass runaway with a big heart and bigger mouth; Castiel, the college drop-out turned hippie; his (surprisingly heterosexual) trouble-making brother Gabriel; and Charlie, who has been told several times that the back room is not to be used for after-hours Dungeons & Dragons games. But there's a lot of love in this place, and a new family for anyone who may otherwise be without.

Sweet little (well, not so little really) universe. Link is to the series.

A Million Ways to Go by chasingrabbits E | 91k | High School AU,

Castiel Novak is a preacher's son living in a world of black and white. Pragmatic and dutiful, he doesn't understand why anybody would want to make waves. Then the Winchesters move in down the street. Soon many of the skeletons in the Novak family's closet are exposed, and as the family faces them, Castiel begins to understand that there are many ways to see the world and so many more ways to live than what he's been told.

Wow, this was a ride. Set in an alternate!canon where Cas is a repressed preacher's kid and dean still grows up a hunter. Also, lots of Sam and Gabriel brother!feels. Not sabriel.

Like That Foreigner Song... by DevilMadeMeDoIt E | 5k | Hot, Alt!Canon, Deancest, Time trave

Dean and Cas have been together for a while now, but Dean always regrets that he has been with so many people in the past. He wishes he could go back in time and tell his 15 year old self that there is someone worth waiting for. Cas gives him the chance and the outcome is one that neither of them expected.

Oh god, this was a perfect little story. So much love.

TutorMate by faeryn M | 21k | College AU

Sam leaves Dean's laptop logged in to some app called "TutorMate" and Dean meets his brother's tutor. Cas helps him with his own work and they strike up a friendship. Before long Dean finds himself growing attached to the cute, clever Cas and flirtatiously suggests they go on a date if he applies himself to his college work. Cas agrees, but Dean discovers his online friend is not quite what he expected. (Or, in which Dean thinks he's met a cute girl and finds out he's actually met a cute boy.)

Wowowwowowow adorable. Perfect little college AU.

More recs coming soon.

#destiel #deancas #spn #spn fic rec #destiel fic rec #*#list

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mintaeguk · 5 years

Photo

Then there's the landing by Sharleena: The thing about Figure Skating is that it's the most brutal sport disguised as something incredibly beautiful to look at, something elegant and frail. Just like Kim Taehyung. [figure skating au | enemies to lovers | 45k | rating: E]

Kiss Me Hard Before You Go by mindheist: Dramatization. Do not try at home. [fake dating au | 20k | rating: E]

Never Let Me Go by mindheist: Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone's hand is the beginning of a journey. [soulmates au | 28k | rating: E]

Forget what i want (give me what i need) by aeterisks: Oddly enough, the moments where Taehyung misses Jeongguk the most, are the ones where he's right there but they're kept apart by busy schedules. [canon compliant | established relationship | 15k | rating: E]

Got a kiss (with your name on it) by marienadine: “I just—I just thought, like. Maybe I wouldn’t be so horrible if someone more experienced than me taught me what to do.” [college au | friends to lovers | 11k | rating: M]

Make this feel like home by aeterisks: Taehyung has spent his whole life looking for excitement, but instead, he ends up finding Jeongguk; somehow, that seems to be even better. [street racing au | strangers to lovers | 44k | rating: E] Love, I have Wounds by Sharleena: Jungkook meets Taehyung in a dirty club with terrible music and harsh lights that color his skin blue. Jungkook has just started feeling lonely when he meets Taehyung, who seems to have been lonely his entire life. [college au | 79k | rating: E]

You're So Special by miniimin: Sometimes you find your soulmate in the form of a dirty kid on the playground. Sometimes it takes a little longer to figure it out, but that's okay - in the meantime, you have a best friend. Or: Jeongguk falls in love before he knows what the word means. Taehyung spends all his years teaching him. [growing up au | friends to lovers | 87k | rating: M]

I Can Be Your Hero, Baby by littleheichou: Jungkook makes a promise to Taehyung when they’re still in elementary school, but, for the record, when he'd made that promise he hadn't expected Taehyung to be putting himself in danger. [spiderman au | friends to lovers | 28k | rating: M]

Keep me warm (on a cold, cold night) by jeontime: He’s been falling in love all this time, he realizes in horror, in the early hours of the morning to the sound of Taehyung’s voice thick with sleep and rough around the edges and yet so animated as they play whatever game they managed to get their hands on. He’s been falling in love with the way Taehyung looks at him, the way that he listens patiently as Jungkook stumbles over his words, struggling to express himself when he’s overexcited or his mind is thinking too fast for him to keep up, the way he seems to understand him even if everything comes out jumbled and out of order. [college au | friends to lovers | 17k | rating: T]

Until We Get There by lethallergic: Nine sessions over the span of a year. [tattoo parlor au | 13k | rating: M]

Inhale, Exhale by Kavbj: Jungkook’s not sleep deprived, and he’s certifiably sane - Taehyung just happens to be able to breathe magic. [college au | magical realism | 18k | rating: M]

Here Fishy Fishy by Kavbj: Taehyung's a real fish out of water (no like, for real) and Jungkook just saved him from drowning. [merman au | 21k | rating: M]

The sweet escape by starbloom: Getting lost in Paris at midnight was not on Taehyung's bucket list. Meeting Jeon Jeongguk and embarking on a whirlwind all-night tour of the city was definitely not on his bucket list---but he's not complaining. [strangers to lovers au | paris au | 22k | rating: E]

Maybe we’re all just fools by airplanewishes: Jeongguk likes to run. He’s never wanted anyone to run with him before. [fake/pretend relationship au | college au | 52k | rating: G]

5,953 miles by aeterisks, aetoms: When Taehyung is given the opportunity to have world-famous model, Jeon Jeongguk, model his designs, he finally sees his dreams becoming a reality. What he doesn't expect is for Jeongguk to steal his heart, taking it to the other side of the world with him. [strangers to lovers au | 17k | rating: E]

Love Will Always Be a Lesson (Let's Get Out of its Way) by mindheist: Lesson 1: it’s not real. [hollywood au | actors au | 60k | rating: E]

Invisible People by mindheist: The most important things are the hardest of all to see. [ballet au | 22k | rating: E]

And, Home (Will Feel Like Home Again) by mindheist: Between the oily residue of night market tables and the rickety steps of the Hakone mountains, there is a little bus station in the fog. [travelogue | strangers to lovers au | 22k | rating: E]

Dilemma by taecheeks: If anything is as routine as Yoongi whining about the room filling with smoke before he helps add to it is Taehyung slipping away sometime throughout the night to feed his kissing addiction. Even though Jungkook has lips and is usually in hands reach of Taehyung, he’ll disappear and reappear moments later with someone else. It’s fine. It’s torture. [college au | friends with benefits au | mutual pining | 68k | rating: E]

Pour Up (Drank) by mindheist: If you can read this, take another shot. [frat au | 41k | rating: E]

Fever started long ago by thestarsabove: In which Taehyung eats a magical fortune cookie and wakes up physically dependent on Jeongguk’s body heat. [canon but with magic involved | 22k | rating: E]

Maybe we’re fireproof by thestarsabove For as long as Jeongguk can remember (and even before that too), his body has been on fire. [college au | friends to lovers | 50k | rating: E]

To always follow the sun by thruspring: In which Jeongguk upgrades from being his boss' frazzled and overworked assistant to prospective future step-parent practically overnight. [office au | boss!tae/assistant!jk | single parent au | 36k | rating: E]

Never Letting Go of Surburbia by NastaeTae: Taehyung doesn't know when "we're just neighbors" became "when can I see you again?" but something about it warms his heart. Somewhere along the road, being just neighbors wasn't enough anymore. [neighbors au | single dad!jungkook | mutual pining | 18k | rating: E]

They Can See Us by mindheist: There are two things that you should hope always follow you. Number one: your shadow. Number two: your reflection. [horror, thriller | blurred reality | angst with happy ending | 31k | rating: E]

Butterfingers by batman: The amount of things that Taehyung has a steady grip around is limited to three. [college au | wedding | 9k | rating: T]

11:58:30 by batman: Reviewing the entirety of your rocket science course in twelve hours is not actually rocket science, but falling in love might just be. [college au | strangers to lovers | 15k | rating: T]

(If there's something better baby) well they haven't found it yet by batman: For one thread's worth of the sunrise, everything slows down like dust in the air, and his clumsy vision, he realises, is the last memory he'll have of this point in his life. Then Jeongguk winks at him, and turns away. [rock band au | famous/non famous au | slow burn | 32k | rating: M]

#taekook #taekook fics #taekook fic rec #fic recs #bangtan fics #bts fics #rec list #fics #ao3 #fan fics #mine

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endoftheworldpaul · 4 years

Text

Bright

This is my Pinescone Secret Santa fic, written for @pancake-man hope you enjoy! This follows their prompt soulmates. Always did want to write a soulmate fic!

Check it out on AO3!

Color reference sheet:

Blue- Trust, stability, calm

Pink- tenderness, caring, sympathy

Royal blue - stability, honesty

Beige - dependable, flexible

True love was tricky to understand, especially for a six-year-old. That didn’t stop Dipper Pines from asking every question about that popped into his head about the subject. Why is the world besides his family all gray? Why did Mabel illuminate a room with bright pinks and purples and oranges when all of his classmates remain a monochrome series of grays? Why did kittens glow orange and blue-gray and chocolate brown when the scary dog across the street that barked real loud every time he got close stayed a solid dark gray? ‘Why did’ and ‘how come’ poured from his lips faster than syrup on Mabel’s pancakes and Dipper could see that his parents were getting tired of deflecting his questions.

Finally, they explained that everyone and anything you loved would light up with color for as long as you cared for them, that ancient magic encouraged a love for everything. And that some people would never see a single color in their lives because their hearts grew so cold and angry that no love could ever warm them. They explained that when people who loved each other touched, their skin would light up with a color representing the relationship wherever they touched, and that’s why when momma and dad held hands, they lit up with a soft blue hue.

Dipper found out that Mabel loved everything. She rambled on about the colors of the sky, girls’ hair, and even spiders.

Dipper didn’t love spiders or the sky, but he did love lakes and rivers and trees and funny-looking fish. So he watched documentaries and science shows and learned and absorbed information and slowly, he began to see more and more colors.

When Dipper turned ten and invited his best friends Sam and Caroline to his birthday party at the new arcade, he first learned heartbreak. He knew he loved his friends because he could clearly see Caroline’s dark skin and the bright pink flowers in her hair and the way the blue raspberry lollipops she loved stained her tongue and Sam’s freckles and his blush when Caroline told a joke and the way his brown eyes sparkled when he planned on pranking someone. When Sam handed him the bright green birthday present he brought for Dipper, their hands brushed and nothing happened, no colors, no glowing. At first, he was sad but cheered himself up at the realization that it was likely just that Sam was slower to love people and since Sam and Dipper had only been friends for a few months, that he just was working to get there.

Then, when Caroline grabbed his hand to drag him over to a game with flashing lights and loud music and silly ducks on it and their clasped hands also didn’t glow, Dipper was struck with the fear that something was wrong. He and Caroline had been friends for five years now.

So, when he had the chance, he pretended to go to the bathroom. He followed Sam and Caroline around, weaving between people’s legs and trying to keep track of their conversation.

“—such a nerd!” Caroline giggled.

“Yeah, and he never stops talking! It’s nice that his family lets him go to so many fun places because he drags us along.”

They continued to talk, the topic changing from Dipper to Mabel, calling her names. Right before they were blocked by a particularly tall man, he noticed their colors be replaced by deep grays.

Dipper ran to find Mabel. Mabel hugged him close and Dipper found comfort in the soft pink glow that illuminated their skin where Mabel’s arms wrapped around his arms and neck and how her fingers shined when she wiped away his tears.

After that, Dipper found it harder to love people. Books and nature and games still had prominent colors, but only Mabel and his parents had color. Sometimes, Dipper would look in the mirror and smudges of gray would seep into his skin, hair, eyes. Times like that made him scared. When that happened, the only thing that brought him comfort was the soft rosy pink of Mabel’s hugs.

Over time, Dipper made better friends, met new people, and occasionally developed crushes on pretty girls and nice boys. But very few people ever were brightened by colors.

One said crush was Wirt Palmer, a dorky boy six months his senior. They had met at a sleep-away writing camp and immediately got on like fire on a house. Wirt was soft-spoken but passionate, clumsy yet gorgeous. Wirt was perfect, and Dipper would be damned if he hadn't tried everything to not fall in love with him.

It would be cliche to say Dipper fell in love slowly, and it would be a blatant lie. Three hours after they first shook hands during their introduction to one another, color slammed into Wirt's form. Wirt had quoted Shakespeare, softly mumbling "'Tis the way to call hers exquisite, in question more…" under his breath, the following lines providing a comforting touch, their warmth soaking into Dipper's bones. And then, color. It was as simple as that, but also horribly convoluted and worrying, as Dipper hadn't felt love anew in a year.

But, despite the panic creeping in, he was also comforted by how right it felt to love Wirt. Dipper was also just a teenage boy, and he struggled to differentiate the platonic and romantic affection he felt for his new companion. After all, love came in many forms, and identifying one after so suddenly being overwhelmed by its presence was a feat in and of itself.

So, Dipper kept his feelings to himself, only letting Mabel know that he had made a new friend. As the week progressed and Wirt opened up more, Dipper came to the conclusion that no matter what he felt for this boy, he was certain that he would never feel whole again if not by his side.

And stay he did, at least to the best of his ability. After all, Wirt lived in Massachusetts, the other side of the country from Dipper's home of Piedmont, California. They texted, nigh constantly, and during school breaks they would talk into the early morning hours, night coming to an end before their conversations. Dipper rarely actually saw Wirt, as opposed to just hearing him, seeing his words through a screen. That made it easy to ignore how clear Wirt's colors were, never wavering, never dimming.

The few times he and Wirt were face to face—video chats or the occasional meetup—Dipper could only be amazed by how beautiful Wirt was. Fluffy brown hair and chocolate eyes, tan skin, a big angular nose, all made Dipper's insides warm pleasantly. And the beauty and determination of the colors comforted Dipper. He was reminded that despite being hurt and despite being taken advantage of, he was no less worthy of being surrounded by love than any other person. When he felt close to Wirt—despite the hundreds of miles separating them—he loved himself more.

Sometimes, late at night, after Wirt finally succumbs to the siren call of sleep, Dipper would trace patterns onto his arms, royal blue bleeding through the gaps between his fingers, and feel closest to the old Dipper, the one who loved easily and truly, a part of him he had previously given up on finding again.

Other times, gray would wobble across his body, only lasting mere seconds before returning to its bright hues, and a deep cold would seep into Dipper, down to the bone. On those days, Wirt would be quick to comfort, rambling on about plans for college or a book he had read or a song he was writing. The distractions helped, but Dipper wondered if it was more the words or the person they came from that brought him comfort.

Dipper developed a habit of dedicating a large portion of his free time to conversing with Wirt, whether it be during school or during breaks in between study sessions or talking until midnight. And suddenly, as the end of junior year rolled past and suddenly the bubble of consistency was popped, making way for the stress and panic of searching for colleges.

On more than one occasion, Mabel let Dipper know her opinions on his three-year-long college search, telling him that he has no reason to stress since he had had his favorites narrowed down to a reasonably sized list since the end of last year's winter break. She had known this because, for each day of Hanukkah, Dipper had gotten eight sweatshirts, each proudly advertising the mascot of one of those schools. Mabel had five of those same colleges on her list, she also had half of the colleges on the west coast on that very same list, so the overlap didn't surprise Dipper.

His biggest confidant for his college prep fears was Wirt. They both discussed the pros and cons of each school, their interests overlapping enough that the most appealing colleges for one often intrigue the other as well.

And as the season for college applications neared, Dipper noticed Wirt often finding nitpicky reasons to dislike any school that Dipper wasn't applying to. It was almost as if Wirt couldn't bear the thought of consciously choosing to not be closer to Dipper. At first, Dipper brushed thoughts like that aside, but as Wirt steadfastly continued rebuffing schools he had previously fawned over, Dipper reconsidered his behavior. It was relieving to think that maybe, just maybe, Wirt would finally be within arms reach, for the first time since the summer before their sophomore year.

Their last year of high school passed much the same as the previous two, worrying about grades, studying, preparing for college, and talking. Then, spring came and brought with it college responses. With his grades, test scores, and essays, Dipper managed to get accepted into some high ranking colleges, but he was most happy that Wirt had gotten accepted to three of the same colleges that Dipper had, one of which was highly favored by both. They video chatted that might, gushing over each others’ successes and happily imagining what the first year of college might be like.

Wirt wasn’t a fan of cold weather and Dipper hated temperatures over 80 degrees, so they settled on a college in a warmer state, with just enough of an elevation to limit how hot the summers would be.

As his final summer break before college finally began and the stress of finals started to abate, Dipper began packing for the drive to his new campus. Sadly, Mabel hadn’t applied to that college, but she had gotten accepted to one that was only a few hours’ drive away, so visits would be frequent. Freshmen had assigned dorms on campus with a roommate exam matching each person to one or two others, so Dipper had prepared a few different scripts to use, one for a cool roommate, one for a boring roommate, one for a douchey roommate, and one for an absent roommate, all color-coordinated. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing to the person he would be rooming with for the next two years, minimum.

A few days later, he and Mabel had shoved their luggage into the trunk of Dipper’s car and were in the midst of saying goodbye to their parents for the eighteenth time. Mabel had refused to get a driver’s license, quoting studies about the damage driving has on the environment and human health, so Dipper would drive her to her campus, where she would rely on the college’s free bus system to get where she needed.

The drive would take a day so they stopped at a hotel halfway there. Since Dipper had driven and was therefore too busy to talk to Wirt, he spent the next two hours chatting with Wirt about tourist traps he has driven past, the whole time trying to tune out Mabel’s loud getting-ready-for-bed-one-woman-performance.

Wirt said that he was already at his dorm and that his roommate, singular, had yet to arrive. He then sent an invite for a video chat and, when Dipper accepted, gave him a shaky but descriptive tour of his half of the large suite. There were five rooms: a living room, two bedrooms, each with personal bathrooms, and a small kitchen. The kitchen had a stove, a small fridge, and a microwave. Dipper also noticed a small kettle, covered in stickers.

Wirt babbled on about how nervous he was to meet his roommate and for classes to start, only stopping when Mabel burst from the bathroom to fill the room Dipper was in with her loud and only slightly off-key singing.

“Oh hi, Wirt!” She shouted at the laptop, receiving a shocked greeting from Wirt in return. Shortly after the disruption, Wirt yawned, his jaw popping at the exertion. Dipper said goodnight and not long after he and Mabel were out cold.

When he dropped Mabel off, she gripped him tightly and whispered “Go get him, tiger. He’s gonna love you, if he doesn’t already.” Her words were comforting, if not surprising, and he focused on the gentle pink lighting up around the points of contact to distract from the tears that wanted to escape.

Her words echoed in his brain as he sped down the highway, stealing any semblance of extra focus that he would have had otherwise.

As Dipper hauled his suitcase down the hallway, pausing a second to glance down at his phone to double-check what room he’s heading to. As he does, he hears a soft voice muttering what sounds like poetry escape the open door a few rooms ahead of him.

“I falter, for the sight of you stops my breath, and gaze at the light that is you. Instantly, color fills my world, as there is no life where I do not love you.” Dipper creeps closer, not wanting the speaker to stop. “I stumble around blindly, looking for your guiding light, for when you are not around the world is dark. Now I stand, gazing upon a—” the speaker cuts off as Dipper lets out a gasp.

In the room, Dipper’s room, Wirt stands, dressed in a pale yellow sweater and old blue jeans, and stares at Dipper before stuttering a rushed “Dipper! What, what are you doing here? I didn’t tell you my room did I?”

Dipper let out a breathy chuckle. “Wirt, this is my room. I… it seems like we might be roommates. I, what was that that you were reading? Who was it for?” Wirt’s Face burned bright red and the heat of Dipper’s own cheeks told him that he was blushing just as hard.

“It was…” He trailed off, the answer whispered into his hands, which had crept up to cover his face. He peeked through a gap in his fingers and followed Dipper as he took a slow step forward. He dropped his hands, took a deep breath, and blurted out “It was for you! I wrote it for you because I love you!” He pauses. “I love you,” he muttered, softer this time.

Dipper closes the distance between them, shakily stretching out a hand and pausing just inches from Wirt’s face. Wirt takes the initiative and leans into his palm. Instantly, the points of contact light up a soft beige, but Dipper focused on the beige pouring from Wirt’s chest, illuminating the shape of his heart.

“Oh boy. That’s a, that’s a soulmark.” Wirt must notice the confused furrow of Dipper’s brow because he continues. “It’s a super rare thing that happens only when people love each other purely and like initiate purposeful contact with each other or something. There’s like twenty cases of this happening in the last four decades.”

Dipper felt his blush spread down his neck. “We’re just that special, I guess. If you couldn’t guess, I love you too, Wirt. I’ve been in love with you since the first day we met.” Dipper looked into Wirt’s eyes, filled with comfort by the pure love held in the brown depths. His other hand met Wirt’s cheek and the beige hue brightened.

Dipper knew then and there that he would move heaven and earth to keep Wirt’s love close by, would fight the world if it meant making him happy.

#pinescone #pinescone Secret santa #my writing #Dipper Pines #otgw Wirt #gf #otgw #I am like super proud of this?#I think if school hadn't taken up a lot of my time before this i would have written like twice as much but its 2.7k #which is a good size i think

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insideoutstory · 5 years

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Inside Out - Chapter Thirteen

summary: The party ventures to Hawkins Middle to test their plan. They won’t like what they find. word count: 5.5k warnings: n/a

[ masterlist ] [ FF.net ]

Christine—Needed a bigger radio. Gone to AV club. Be back soon.

Christine crumpled the note in her hand as she trudged up the steps to Hawkins Middle School. Her legs were screaming at her to stop moving, just for a while. She was getting seriously tired of all the running around. She was gonna kill Mike Wheeler when she found him.

Walking into the middle school always felt weird. Well, it hadn’t when she was still a student. She was only a year and a half out and already the halls seemed smaller than she remembered. Had she really sat at a desk that tiny in her English class? Or was that desk the same as the one she used now, only shrunken by memories?

That was one thing that made the hallways seem weird. All those memories. Her locker had been down this hallway one year. She remembered getting the zipper of her sweatshirt stuck in the door, and Barb nearly tearing her arm off trying to get it open again. That was the side door she usually left through when it was time to go to the high school for science. There was the athletics department corkboard, still full of photos of the school’s teams. Once she’d stolen a polaroid of Steve off when she thought no one was looking. It was probably still sitting in her desk at home.

The other thing that made it weird was the people. Or rather, the lack thereof. Christine had spent the entire ride to the school thinking of excuses, prepared to run into a concerned teacher who would want her off premises. But there was no one in sight. She peeked into a few classrooms, swung by the cafeteria, only to be met by silence at every turn. No one was hanging around.

She wasn’t surprised to find the door to the AV closet locked. It usually stayed that way until it was time for a meeting. She knocked hopefully anyway, and called through the door.

“Guys? Dustin? Mike? It’s Christine. Anyone in there?”

No response.

Christine sagged, chewing on her tongue. If they weren’t inside the AV room, they must be with everyone else. Besides a fire alarm, there was only one thing she could think of that would get everyone out of class like that. And seeing as a student’s body had been found at the quarry yesterday, she was willing to bet ‘assembly’ was the winning answer.

She made her way to the gymnasium. The distorted bass of the crappy sound system was echoing down the hallway. Knowing she was on the right track, she picked up the pace.

“The school counselor will be available should any of you need to talk,” the principal announced as she drew level with the doors. “But remember. Counselors aren’t the only people to ask for help. Turn to your parents, your teachers, your peers. We can all help each other, and keep Will Byers in our hearts. Thank you.”

Christine peeked through the window, but everyone was already getting up. The crowd stormed the doors, full of indifferent students who would rather be in class than pretend to care about Will. Christine had to scramble back against the opposite wall to avoid being flattened. She inspected the crowd, looking for Dustin’s hat or Eleven’s close-cropped hair. But none of the party was in sight.

“Christine?”

She whirled on the spot, and had to hide her disappointment when it wasn’t one of the kids.

“Oh, uh—hey Mr. Clarke!”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His pleasant surprise turned stern as he added, “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Um…yeah, I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair and inventing on the spot. “But with everything going on, you know, with Will I just…I just wanted to be there for the boys.”

Mr. Clarke softened. He always did, at stuff like that. He was easily one of the most compassionate teachers at the middle school. It was what made him Christine’s favorite.

“I understand,” he said solemnly. “Still, skipping class…”

“My dad already knows. And…well, between you and me, Dustin’s missed curfew a couple times this week. The boys were so sure they were gonna find Will. So, his mom asked me to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t run off.”

“Well, that’s good,” he agreed. “I mean, the whole thing is horrible, but I’m glad the boys have someone on their side.”

Christine smiled nervously. Kids were still rushing out of the gym, no nerds in sight. It was getting harder to hide her panic.

“You don’t know where they are, do you?” she asked fervently.

“Oh! Um…well, I don’t see…They were definitely here—I walked them down to the assembly a couple minutes late—but they could’ve slipped past us. I gave Michael the keys to the AV room, though, so that’s probably where they’re headed.”

“Okay, great! Well, it was nice seeing…”

“Nonsense! I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh…okay…”

Mr. Clarke led the way through the sea of students. Christine was still scanning the crowd routinely, but couldn’t find anyone she recognized. She was so focused she almost didn’t notice when Mr. Clarke spoke.

“So how are things going up at the high school?”

“Hm? Oh, um…they’re good. Normal. Mostly.”

“You’re still enjoying science?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m taking physics now. It’s not chemistry, but I still like it.”

Mr. Clarke smiled proudly. “A mind like yours, I’m sure Mr. Austin’s class is no match.”

“I don’t know,” Christine said airily, her mind drifting to a certain head of brunette hair. “Physics has its perks.”

“You know, I remember watching you in biology. You were always staring out the window or—or disassembling your mechanical pencil. That’s when I knew you needed a real challenge. I always knew we made the right call advancing you. One of the best decisions I’ve made as a teacher. Oh, and one of the hardest, mind you. But I’m proud of it. That, and pairing you with Barbara Holland for your first lab project.”

Christine was glad that he couldn’t see her miserable smile. “Yeah. I think that was a pretty good decision too.”

Mr. Clarke continued to talk as they walked to the AV room, talking about their latest ham shack and what kind of students he had in his classes these days. Christine listened, interested but too tired to truly participate in the conversation. It was a relief when they got to the AV closet. He let her be with an enthusiastic farewell, and a promise to catch up when all the craziness had passed. He was just about to leave when he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know things have been tough this week. But you’re a smart kid, Chrissy. I don’t think the boys could ask for a better mentor, or a better friend.”

Christine had been too embarrassed to muster a response. Thankfully, her bashful smile seemed to be enough. With a pat on the back, Mr. Clarke headed back for his own classroom.

It was a few minutes before the boys caught up to her.

“Christine!”

Mike skid around the corner first, grinning and out of breath. Dustin and Lucas almost collided with his back. They were giggling as well, impervious to her stern glare.

“Yeah, it’s me. What the hell is going on?”

“Aw man, it was sick,” said Dustin jovially. “We were at the assembly right? And Troy was being an asshole about Will, laughing through all of Principal Sherman’s speech. And then Mike goes up to him, right? And he shoves him over like…!”

“Not at the assembly,” Christine hissed. “I told you idiots to stay at the house! What are you even doing here? Someone could… Eleven?”

She almost hadn’t recognized her. Standing nervously at the back of the group was a small girl with light blonde hair. She wore high tube socks and a vividly pink dress, which looked at odds with her blue windbreaker. Gone were the circles under her eyes, the pale skin that almost showed her veins. It looked like she was actually wearing makeup.

Christine narrowed her eyes at the dress.

“Where did you get that? That’s not mine.”

“It’s Nancy’s,” Mike explained. “We had to go back to my house for the wig.”

“You had to—You went back to your house? Mike! What if someone had seen her?”

“They didn’t!” Lucas assured her. “We were super careful!”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” asked Dustin. “Even you didn’t notice!”

“Alright, if you were going to leave, why couldn’t you just use my clothes?”

“Cause you didn’t have a wig. Duh. Also cause Lucas was afraid to go in your closet.”

Lucas promptly shoved Dustin into the wall.

Christine sighed, rubbing her hands down her face. These kids were easily going to be the death of her. But before she could get too stressed, Eleven walked up to her side. She pulled on the sleeve of Christine’s flannel, and then pointed to her own hair.

“Same,” she said with a soft smile. “Pretty.”

The anger slipped out of her, which was very inconvenient.

“Yeah,” said Christine with a smile. She poked El on the nose, making her jump. “You’re very pretty, El.”

Lucas elbowed Mike, who rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with this now?”

Mike unlocked the door to the AV room, and all five of them piled inside. Just like the hallway, the room seemed smaller than she remembered. There were more electronics piled on the shelves. Mr. Clarke was always acquiring new toys without throwing out the old ones. However, there was one toy that stood out from the rest.

“Holy shit!” Christine was unable to contain a gasp of delight as she saw the radio on the table. She pushed through the boys, ignoring their complaints as she plopped down into the chair. “Holy shit! You guys weren’t kidding! This thing is huge! The signal alone—geez, this thing is a proper, international radio! And with technology like this? Shit, you could pick up walkies, pick up ham shacks, radios. Across oceans! You could hear anything!”

“Yeah,” Mike said sourly. “That’s kinda the point?”

“Come on, Chris,” said Dustin, easing her out of the chair. “You can geek out over the Heathkit later.”

Mike shook his head. “It’s like working with little kids.”

Eleven was ushered into the chair in front of the radio while Lucas locked the door. Then they all gathered around to watch.

“So how does this work?” asked Dustin. “Will doesn’t even have his supercomm.”

“It’s not a manual connection,” Christine explained. She leaned over the radio, powering it up and pulling El’s hand to the tuner. “She navigates the stations herself. Like she’s finding Will’s frequency, not his radio.”

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolding it to reveal another one of Will’s missing posters. She laid it out in front of Eleven, who looked nervous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Christine asked.

Eleven nodded stubbornly. She closed her eyes, and began to focus on the radio.

Loud static filled the room. Just like last night, the sound was enough to put her on edge. Something about it sent a shiver up her spine. She couldn’t tell if it was her anxiety, or some sixth sense that knew something unnatural was going on.

“She’s doing it,” said Mike in amazement. “She’s finding him!”

“This is crazy,” Dustin breathed.

“Calm down,” Lucas scoffed. “She just closed her eyes.”

On cue, the light over their head blew out. Everyone except Eleven jumped. Christine fixed the boys with a hard glare in the semi-darkness.

“Will the three of you shut up? She’s trying to concentrate.”

Dustin smacked Lucas on the shoulder. “Yeah, dude. She’s trying to concentrate.”

They quieted down to listen to the radio once more. It was definitely picking up something. There was a repetitive thud or—no, a clang. It sounded metallic, whatever it was. Too steady to be anything human, too slow to be much else.

Christine furrowed her brow. “What is that? Some kind of interference?”

She reached for the dial, only for Mike to grab her wrist.

“I don’t think so. Listen.”

It was quiet. Then a little louder, then a little more, like Eleven was honing in on the sound. In a matter of seconds, it had clarified to a whimper. That was unmistakably human.

“Mom?”

Just the boys’ reaction was enough to confirm Christine’s suspicions. Will’s voice pleaded from the radio, the clanging getting louder around him.

“Mom! Please!”

“No way,” said Lucas, and Christine shushed him again. But they were too frantic to listen to her.

Mike grabbed the microphone, repeatedly jamming his finger on the button. “Will!”

“Will, it’s us! Are you there?”

“Can you here us? We’re here!”

“Guys, stop,” Christine ordered. “Stop!”

“No!” Lucas yelled. Will was still pleading on the radio. “Why can’t he hear us?!”

“I don’t know,” Mike groaned. He jammed his finger on the buttons again. “Will?!”

“Guys, I don’t think it works like that,” Christine pleaded. “Will doesn’t have his supercomm, remember? This isn’t a real connection. There’s nowhere for your voices to go.”

The boys were ready to argue. But at that exact moment, the banging stopped. Will’s voice faltered, and another sound swelled in the speakers. It was…something she couldn’t place. Familiar in the way that crept up the back of your neck but didn’t quite connect in her brain. The only thing she could think to describe it was clicking, but not in the way a machine would. It was the way an animal might, if it was blind or making a call of distress. She racked her brains, trying to think of an animal that fit, but fell short.

The clicking grew into a growl, then a roar, and the boys turned to look at her in fear.

“Chrissy?” Dustin asked weakly. “What is that?”

“I—I don’t know…”

Will’s voice was growing frantic.

“Mom! It’s coming! It’s—It’s like home, but it’s so dark! It’s so dark and empty! And it’s cold! Mom? Mom, please!”

The roar turned into a high pitched screech, and all four of them stumbled back from the radio. They responded just in time. A moment later, the entire Heathkit radio went up in flames. Sparks flew out in all directions, and a cloud of smoke encircled the room.

“Shit!” Christine cursed. She scrambled around the table, pulling the kids back. “Shit, get down! Dustin! Fire extinguisher!”

Dustin was already a step ahead of her. No sooner had the words left her mouth than a stream of white shot at the desk. It kept the flames at bay, but the smoke had already triggered the alarm. Christine resisted the urge to cover her ears. She dove over Eleven instead, as if her body might be able to block her from the harsh, loud noises.

“It’s okay, El. It’s gonna be…El?”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Christine was too shocked to finish her sentence. She knew that Eleven’s powers took a toll on her, but yesterday hadn’t looked like this. Already, she could see the blood seeping from her nose, the dark veins crawling over her head. Yesterday they’d been purple. Now, they were a dark and alarming black.

“El!” Mike was trying to elbow Christine out of the way. “Are you okay?!”

He and Lucas both let out gasps of concern when they saw her. But Eleven was completely nonresponsive. Her eyes wouldn’t focus on them, like part of her was still stuck someplace else.

“We need to get her out of here,” Christine ordered. “Now. Go! Move!”

She swept Eleven up into her arms, and the entire party fled for the door. The fire alarm was giving her anxiety, but it had its benefits. The whole school had been swept up into a frenzy. With everyone running up and down the hallway, no one looked twice at the nerds sprinting like they were being chased, or the random teenage girl carrying a sick child that didn’t even go to their school.

They had a short argument when they reached bike rack. Christine was reluctant to let go of Eleven, but Mike insisted that his bike would be better to transport El. In the end, Christine relented and gently loaded Eleven on the back of his bike. She slumped heavily against his back and Mike had to steer with one hand, the other holding her arms tight around his waist. Christine rode close behind them, just in case.

The fact that they made it back to her house without any major calamities was a miracle itself.

Christine ushered everyone through the back door, leaving their bikes toppled and askew in the backyard. She swept Eleven back up into her arms and carried her to the bedroom. Then she darted back to the kitchen, grabbing the same supplies as the night before, and returning to take care of Eleven. This was very difficult with the three boys hovering around her. Mike wouldn’t move away from the bed, and Dustin and Lucas seemed to be glued to Christine’s sides. After several minutes urging him to back up so she could wash Eleven’s face, Christine finally snapped.

“Out! All of you! Get out of my room!”

“But, Christine—!”

“Nope! Wait in the living room! You can check the windows, you can lock the doors, you can raid the kitchen, I don’t care! Just get the hell out of my room!”

She had to shove them into the hallway, and slammed the door behind them.

It was easier after that. She cleaned Eleven’s face and tried to get her to drink some water. The problem was, El was still in shock. Her arms hung like deadweight, and Christine couldn’t even change her out of the dress and into something more comfortable. The only time she got a response was when she tried to take off the blonde wig.

“No…”

Eleven couldn’t lift and arm to stop her, but she whined as Christine pulled it from her head.

“I know,” she whispered gently, running a hand over Eleven’s natural hair. “But you’ll sleep better like this. And you don’t want to get blood on it, right?”

She whined again, looking longingly at the wig.

“How about this? I’ll let you hold it, and you can keep it right here. This way if you want to put it on when you feel better, you can.”

The offer was good enough that Eleven summoned the strength to take the wig from her, and hugged it to her chest. It broke Christine’s heart in a way. This tiny girl had superpowers, but the thing she cared about at that moment was keeping the wig that made her feel pretty.

“I’m gonna go talk to the boys,” Christine said, patting the blankets. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

Eleven nodded. Or she tried to, but she already appeared to be half asleep. Christine waited until she’d stopped moving, checked to make sure she was still breathing steadily, and then headed out to the living room.

“Is she okay?” Mike demanded as soon as he saw her.

“She’s fine,” Christine assured him. “I told you, it drains her. I think holding the connection for so long was risky, especially after she was pushing it last night.”

She collapsed into the armchair, rubbing her temples. The boys were scattered throughout the room. Lucas was sitting on the couch, his head similarly in his hands. Dustin sat on the floor, his legs in front of him, his arms limp. His mouth was hanging open as he stared into space, like he was still trying to process everything that had happened since that morning. And Mike, of course, was pacing around the room. Christine wasn’t going to waste energy telling him to stop.

At a loss for anything else, she cleared her throat. “Lunch?”

There was no response. But what other choice did she have? So she dragged herself to the kitchen and started making sandwiches.

Christine wracked her memory for the next hour or so, but she couldn’t think of a time the party had been this quiet for this long. She couldn’t remember a time where just Dustin had been quiet for this long. It was unsettling. She didn’t blame them, of course. Not after what they’d heard. But she couldn’t figure out what to say. Any assurance that Will was fine would be sickeningly hollow. She wasn’t prepared to make anyone believe that, not when she could still hear the unearthly clicking in her ears. And she knew the others must be hearing it too.

It wasn’t until later, when the boys had picked apart their food, when Christine had tired of watching them pretend to eat, when she’d taken the plates back into the kitchen to wash, that someone finally spoke.

“Is this seriously all we’re gonna do?” It was no surprise that Lucas asked. “We’re just gonna sit here eating PB and J’s while Will’s somewhere out there being hunted?”

“We don’t know that,” tried Mike.

“Yes, we do! You heard it! I heard it! We all heard it!”

“What was it?” asked Dustin shakily.

“We know what it was. It was the Demogorgon!”

“You said the Demogorgon wasn’t real!”

“Did that thing sound real to you? Cause it sure as shit didn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before!”

“Okay, hold on,” Christine interrupted. She threw her towel down on the back of the couch, hoping she seemed more authoritative than tired. “One thing at a time, remember? We can’t help Will until we know where he is.”

“But we don’t,” said Lucas. “All of that, and we still don’t know! I mean, what was even the point of this?”

“Because El was telling the truth,” Mike said fervently. “We know she wasn’t lying. We know Will’s alive.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Dustin asked.

It sent a chill around the group, which Christine did her best to push out of the room.

“Focus. First thing’s first. What did we learn from the radio?”

“Right,” Mike agreed. He was pacing again. “What was Will saying? Like home…Like home…but dark?”

“And empty,” Lucas added.

“Empty and cold,” said Dustin. “…wait, did he say cold?”

“I don’t know! The stupid radio kept going in and out.”

“It’s like riddles in the dark,” Dustin sighed.

“He kept calling for his mom,” Christine supplied.

Mike gave her a weird look. “What does that matter? He’s scared. Of course he was calling for his mom.”

“I don’t know. It sounded more like he was talking to her. One half of a conversation.”

“Okay,” Lucas said slowly. “But Will’s mom isn’t missing.”

Christine frowned. That was a point. If Will was…somewhere, and his mom wasn’t, how was she talking to him too? Unless she’d also found a powerful superchild to help her contact “the other side.” She wanted to ask, but she couldn’t imagine how that conversation would go. Was she just supposed to call up the Byers house and ask if Mrs. Byers had spoken to Will lately? She couldn’t even tell her about Eleven. What if Christine was wrong, and she just pushed a grieving mother to the edge? What if Jonathan picked up the phone instead?

“Like home,” Mike was still muttering. “Like his house?”

“Or maybe like Hawkins,” said Lucas.

“Upside down.”

Everyone turned to the hallway, where Eleven had reappeared. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit, but she still looked unsteady on her feet. Her wig was back in place, albeit slightly off center.

Christine would have rushed to her side, but Mike beat her to it. He grabbed her by the arm, helping her over to the couch so she could lie down. Lucas scooted out of her way, wrinkling his nose.

“What did she say?”

“Upside down,” Mike repeated. “Upside down!”

“What?”

“When El showed us where Will was, she flipped over the board, remember? Upside down!”

“Wait, when was this?” Christine asked. “The board?”

“For our campaign. We were in my basement, and she said Will was hiding. Then she flipped the game board upside down. Dark, empty!”

“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Lucas asked Dustin, who shook his head.

“No.”

“Guys, come on, just think about it,” Mike complained. “When El took us to find Will, she took us to his house, right?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said flatly. “And he wasn’t there.”

“But what if he was there? What if we just couldn’t see him? What if he was on the other side?”

“Wait, the other side?” Christine asked, squinting. “Are we back to the ghost theory?”

Mike groaned. Without invitation, he grabbed one of the magazines off the coffee table. Then he went to Christine’s card table and grabbed the sharpie she’d been using to do flashcards. Uncapping it, he began scribbling over the back of the magazine.

“Hey! I was reading that!”

“Shut up, it’s just an add.”

He scribbled until the whole thing was black, then tossed the marker aside. He tapped on the front of the magazine.

“Look, what if this is Hawkins, and this…” He flipped it around to show them the black side. “…is where Will is? The Upside Down.”

“Like the Vale of Shadows,” said Dustin, finally catching on.

“Beyond the veil?” Christine asked. “It still sounds like we’re talking ghosts.”

“No, not ghosts. Dungeons and Dragons.”

Dustin held up a finger, running to his backpack. He pulled out a thick black binder, which he slammed on the coffee table next to the ruined magazine. Christine watched as he flipped through pages and pages, all adorned with pictures of large dragons, elves, and dark forests. Involuntarily, she raised an eyebrow.

“You carry your rulebook around with you?”

Dustin glared at her.

“Here,” he said, when he’d found the correct page. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you and you don’t even see it.”

There was a heavy beat as all four of them exchanged dark looks.

“An alternate dimension,” Mike breathed into the silence.

“But…how…how do we get there?” Lucas asked.

Dustin checked the page. “You cast Shadow Walk.”

“In real life, dummy.”

“We can’t shadow walk, but…maybe she can.”

In unison, they all turned to look at Eleven. She was dozing on the couch, still half asleep, but her eyes were open.

“Do you know how we get there?” Mike asked, and somehow Christine was still surprised by the gentleness in his voice. “To the Upside Down?”

Eleven shook her head into the pillow.

Lucas groaned, but Christine shook her head.

“Forget about getting there. How do we even find it?”

“Well it’s the Upside Down, right?” Dustin tapped the floor underneath him. “Hypothetically, you open a portal and there it is.”

“Yeah, but what if you open the portal and get the wrong one?”

“What do you mean?” asked Mike.

“Well, we’re talking about alternate dimensions, right? The multiverse?”

The boys blinked at her.

Resigned, Christine walked around to the coffee table. She kneeled next to Dustin and picked up the magazine.

“You’re talking about the Upside Down like it’s the only other possibility. But quantum physics suggests that if there’s more than one dimension, then there’s thousands of them. Infinite dimensions stacked on top of each other. And because they each exist in a relative state, there’s no definitive order to them. Kinda like this.”

Christine held up the magazine. She showed them the front, then the back, then all the pages in between.

“So the front is Hawkins, the back is the Upside Down, and in between you have infinite possible alternate universes. And every time I open the magazine, the pages are moving around. I’ve got no way to know if I’m gonna open up on Hawkins version one, twenty, or seven million three hundred and sixty-seven.”

“So how do we get to the Upside Down?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t know,” said Christine. “That’s what I just asked.”

“You don’t know?” Dustin asked incredulously. “How can you know all of this and not know?”

“This is theory, Dustin! None of this shit has been proven until now. If Will’s in another dimension, it’s the first time in scientific history it’s happened.”

“Then guess! You’re in physics, right?”

“I’m in high school physics! Not quantum physics, dumbass!”

“She’s right,” said Mike. He was looking warily at the magazine. “We need someone who knows more about this than we do. Someone who really knows their stuff.”

“Mr. Clarke,” Dustin answered almost instantly. Lucas and Christine shot him the same disbelieving look.

“Really?” Lucas asked. “You wanna ask our science teacher how to open up a portal between infinite dimensions on the forefront of scientific research?”

“Yeah. Do you have a better idea?”

Lucas turned to Christine, who shook her head. Ideas were something they were fresh out of.

“Okay,” said Mike, slipping back into plan mode. “So we bike back to school and find Mr. Clarke. Then we can ask him…”

“No one is biking anywhere,” said Christine.

“What? Why not?”

“Mike, we just set fire to the most expensive radio AV club has ever owned. Do you want to go back and face Mr. Clarke right now?”

There was a grumble as the boys agreed with her.

“Whatever you want to ask Mr. Clarke can wait until tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Dustin groaned. “Tomorrow!”

“What?”

“It’s Will’s funeral.”

Christine sighed. “Alright. So we go to the funeral, and afterwards…”

“Why do we have to go to his funeral?” Lucas asked. “He’s not dead, he’s in trouble. We can’t waste time going to his fake funeral.”

“And you don’t think it’s gonna look weird if Will’s three best friends don’t show up?”

“Who cares if it looks weird?” asked Mike. “We’ll just say we were grieving and it was too painful to go.”

“No,” Christine said again, putting her foot down. “Look, setting off the fire alarm today was bad enough. We’re not supposed to be drawing any attention to ourselves, remember? Incognito. Eleven has to stay hidden.”

“Then she can stay here with you,” said Mike. “We’ll go to the school, and…”

“Mike, you’re not listening to me. You said there are people looking for Eleven, right? The bad men? And that they have insane resources that could probably monitor even an anonymous tip to the police station and get her caught?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, don’t you think they’d be monitoring this whole town for weird things? Will is the only kid to go missing in this town for probably like a century. And if the three of you don’t keep up appearances there, it’s gonna qualify as a really weird thing. We go to the funeral, and deal with Mr. Clarke after. He’ll probably be there anyway.”

“What about Eleven?” Mike asked. “She can’t come with us.”

“She’ll be fine here by herself. The funeral will be an hour, tops.” Mike made to argue, but Christine held up a hand. “I will come directly back here, Michael. There’s no adults, she won’t go near the windows, and no one will see her. It will be okay.”

Mike turned to the other three kids. Again, they were out of ideas and options. Lucas and Dustin merely shrugged. Eleven just followed the conversation with wide eyes and no input. Finally, after staring at her for several seconds, Mike sighed.

“Don’t call me Michael,” he grumbled. “What are you, my mom?”

As the planning continued on, Christine couldn’t help but think that she certainly felt like it.

#ocappreciation #fyeahstrangerthingsocs #stranger things oc #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #inside out #chapters #chapter 13

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